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https  ://arch  ive.org/detai  Is/tri  butetowwcorcoOObou  I 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


TRIBUTE 


TO 


W.  CORCORAN, 

OF 


WASHINGTON  CITY. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

POETEE  & COATES, 

No.  322  Chestnut  Stkeet. 

1874. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874,  by 

M.  E.  P.  BOULIGNY, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


King  & Baird,  Printers, 

Hog.  60 1 atxb  600  Sattaom  .Stmt, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


In  dedicating  this  little  book  to  (fJottcotjan,  I add  but  a • 
simple  itflowetj  to  the  already  tjich  anb  fqapant  gatjland,  that 
gratitude  has  woven  in  tjemembrjance  of  his  numerous  deeds 
of  charity,  his  noble  citizenship,  and  his  good  name. 

M.  E.  P.  BOULIGNY. 

Washington  City, 

January  19th,  1874. 


Chapter  I. 


F the  history  of  American  statesmen  is 
a pleasing  study,  and  will  interest  the 
minds  of  thousands  of  people  throughout 
the  breadth  of  our  land,  we  may  not  be 
wrong  in  believing  that  a biography  of 
the  noblest  philanthropist  of  our  National  Capital, 
will  also  find  its  way  to  the  sincere  appreciation  of 
very  many  hearts.  If  the  deeds  of  great  men  who 
have  electrified  Senates  and  ruled  the  nation,  ace 
emblazoned  in  characters  of  gold,  so  should  con- 
tinued acts  of  philanthropy  forever  dwell  in  letters 
of  living  fire.  Heroes  acting  in  behalf  of  the  common 
good  of  our  country,  gain  the  proudest  plaudits  of 
earth,  but  the  humanitarian,  sowing  the  seed  of 
charity,  gathers  in  even  a richer  harvest,  because 
his  generosity  is  in  imitation  of  the  blessed  example 
of  God,  Who  showereth  unstintedly  His  gifts  upon 
mankind.  In  this  age,  when,  oftentimes,  principle, 
reputation,  and  honor  are  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of 
Mammon,  it  is  commonly  agreed  that  the  goods  of 
this  world  become  a primary  consideration,  and  that 
to  guard  them  jealously  is  an  imperative  duty.  When 
this  selfish  rule  is  departed  from,  and  a man  looks 
in  upon  his  treasury  of  wealth,  saying,  “This  I 


6 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


resign  for  the  good  of  my  fellow  creatures,”  he  has 
but  walked  out  of  the  broad  beaten  path  of  avarice 
and  penuriousness,  to  seek  the  narrow  way  that 
leadeth  to  righteousness ; and  such  a man,  whilst 
sadly  contemplating  the  weeds  and  wretched  tares 
that  perplex  his  neighbor,  can  yet  gladly  feel  that 
instead  of  thorns  and  thistles  there  have  sprung 
up  for  himself,  violets  of  love  and  gratitude. 

The  subject  of  our  sketch,  William  Wilson  Cor- 
coran, was  born  on  the  ,27th  of  December,  1798,  in 
Georgetown,  D.  C.  His  father,  Thomas  Corcoran,  a 
native  of  Ireland,  moving  to  this  country  in  early 
youth,  first  resided  in  Baltimore,  and  afterwards  set- 
tled in  Georgetown.  By  his  worthiness  and  integrity 
he  won  the  respect  and  admiration  of  the  community, 
and  held  important  offices  of  trust  up  to  the  time  of 
his  death.  For  thirty-nine  years  Wm.  Wilson  Cor- 
coran continued  to  reside  in  his  native  town,  giving 
his  attention,  the  larger  portion  of  that  time,  to  mer- 
cantile affairs.  From  1828  to  1836  he  had  the  manage- 
ment of  the  real  estate  of  the  Bank  of  the  United 
States,  in  Washington  City,  and  the  Bank  of  Columbia, 
in  Georgetown,  and  afterwards  was  engaged  in  the 
Exchange  business  in  Penn  avenue,  up  to  1839,  when 
he  removed  to  the  building  of  the  old  Bank  of  the 
Metropolis,  F street.  Mr.  George  W.  Biggs  having- 
become  his  partner,  they  purchased,  in  1844,  the  old 
Bank  of  the  United  States,  and  on  the  4th  of  July  of 
that  year  (propitious  day  for  a bright  destiny),  they 
established  themselves,  soon  making  it  a bulwark  of 
strength  and  goodly  reputation,  and  crowning  their 
names  with  emolument  and  honor. 

In  the  midst  of  the  srave  and  momentous  trials 
brought  about  by  the  Mexican  war,  this  firm  took  up 
the  heavy  loans  made  by  the  government,  and  with 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


discretion  and  ability  passed  through  the  storm,  the 
anchorage  of  the  national  credit  being  fast  and  sure 
under  their  wise  guidance.  This  was  a bold  and 
hazardous  undertaking,  but  what  better  proof  of  en- 
ergy, zeal  and  generous  patriotism?  It  was  but  the 
beginning  of  that  high  principle  in  Mr.  Corcoran  of 
doing  good  and  proffering  help  where  necessity  and 
emergency  were  involved. 

In  1835  Mr.  Corcoran  married  Louise  Morris,  the 
daughter  of  Commodore  Morris.  She  was  a most 
estimable  woman,  possessed  of  beauty  and  accomplish- 
ments, but  this  happy  union  was  soon  broken  by 
death,  the  fragile  flower  fading  away  at  the  expiration 
of  five  years.  She  left  a son,  who  died  shortly  after 
her  decease,  and  a daughter  Louise,  whose  eu^logy, 
now  that  she  has  also  passed  to  the  eternal  world,  is 
best  told  in  the  beautiful  memories  that  cluster  around 
her  name.  The  life  of  this  only  child,  reared  in  the 
lap  of  affluence,  was  like  a placid  dream,  and  she  drew 
so  much  of  her  inspiration  from  the  lovely  things  of 
earth,  that  the  fairest  beauty  mirrored  in  her  counte- 
nance, and  in  her  latter  days  especially,  gave  “a  saintly 
meaning  to  her  face.” 

In  1859  she  wTas  married  to  Hon.  Geo.  Eustis,  a rep- 
resentative in  Congress  from  the  State  of  Louisiana. 
They  resided  several  years  in  Paris,  whither  Mr.  Cor- 
coran, 'with  loving  solicitude,  frequently  repaired,  to 
share  in  the  sweet  social  amenities  for  which  her  home 
■was  noted.  Three  interesting  children  added  to  her 
many  joys  and  blessings,  yet  athwart  the  glad  sunshine 
came  the  dark  cloud  of  sickness  and  threatening  disso- 
lution, and  in  December,  1867,  at  Cannes,  she  ex- 
changed the  fleeting  delights  and  riches  of  earth  for 
the  priceless  inheritance  of  heaven.  It  was  truly  a 
sorrowful  day  for  the  fond  father  when  so  dear  a link 


8 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


was  severed  and  so  bright  a jewel  taken  away  to  add 
to  the  radiance  above,  but  he  who  had  surrendered 
many  worldly  possessions  in  acts  of  Christian  charity, 
laid  this  best  and  fondest  treasure,  with  becoming  sub- 
mission, at  the  feet  of  Him  who-  shapeth  the  lily  and 
coloreth  the  violet,  and  plucketh  them  from  earth  to 
shed  fragrance  in  the  fair  garde  n of  His  keeping. 

But  to  return  to  the  career  of  Mr.  Corcoran,  we  have 
but  to  say  that  he  retired  from  active  life  in  1854.  The 
citizens  of  Washington,  the  representatives  of  foreign 
governments,  and  strangers  from  all  parts  of  our 
country  will  remember  with  pleasure  his  princely  hos- 
pitality, for  many  years  in  a home  which  was  of  itself 
a model  of  elegance  and  refinement. 

Through  all  the  vain  attractions  and  temptations 
of  the  gay  Capital,  he  passed  unscathed,  preserving 
his  moral  dignity  and  a regard  for  a consistent  and 
honorable  life.  An  open  profession  of  religious  faith 
was  made  by  him  a few  years  since,  in  the  Church  of 
the  Ascension  of  this  city,  Rev.  Wm.  Pinckney,  D.  D., 
pastor,  the  rite  of  baptism  being  previously  adminis- 
tered. There  was  always  a warm  affection  between 
Mr.  Corcoran  and  his  pastor,  and  in  the  library  of  his 
residence,  among  the  family  portraits,  hangs  a likeness 
of  this  wTorthy  and  eloquent  man,  now  the  beloved 
assistant  bishop  of  Maryland.  It  may  safely  be  said, 
however,  that  no  special  sect  of  religion  nor  bigotry  of 
faith  could  still  or  silence  that  instinctive  sentiment  of 
Mr.  Corcoran,  to  give  wherever  there  was  need,  and 
thus,  every  denomination  has  doubtless  felt  the  good- 
ness of  his  catholic  spirit. 

If  he  has  aided  the  impoverished  women  of  the 
South,  he  has  also  befriended  the  needy  widows  of 
other  sections;  if  he  gave  five  thousand  dollars  to 
the  starving  Irish,  when  famine  stalked  throughout 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


9 


their  land,  he  also  extended  a helping,  if  not  welcom- 
ing hand  to  the  band  of  Hungarian  exiles,  seeking 
refuge  on  our  friendly  shores.  Moreover,  he  has  helped 
to  build  up  the  w'aste  places  and  homes  where  war  left 
its  desolating  trail,  giving  timely  charities,  or  proffer- 
ing loans  which  he  meant  should  never  be  liquidated. 
Many  persons,  once  in  the  hey-day  of  fortune,  finding 
themselves  about  to  be  suddenly  engulfed  in  the  dark 
waters  of  despair,  have  seen  a beacon  light,  and  an  ark 
of  safety  and  retreat  set  afloat,  wherein  they  have 
entered  and  found  peace.  Thus  have  families  been 
kept  united,  that  else  would  have  widely  scattered — 
rescued  in  mercy  from  the  driving  and  pitiless  storms 
of  life. 

Those  who  have  been  always  poor,  meet  more  in 
quiet  patience  their  hard  and  weary  lot ; but  when  the 
roses  of  life  turn  to  the  piercing  thorns,  there  are  but 
few  spirits  in  this  world  to  whom  the  sudden  change 
does  not  bring  an  insupportable  woe.  These  two  con- 
ditions have,  then,  interested  the  sympathy  of  our  bene- 
factor. If  he  has  lifted  in  part  the  burden  of  the 
u always  poor,”  making  their  pathway  less  rugged,  he 
has  saved  from  the  darker  fate  of  sudden  and  heavy 
misfortune,  the  delicate  and  tenderly  reared  woman, 
and  the  noble,  high  minded  man.  Forgetting  not  the 
loving  entreaty  of  the  Saviour  of  mankind,  he  has  also 
suffered  little  children  to  come  unto  him,  affording 
them  such  happy  relief,  that  when  in  maturer  years 
they  shall  rest  their  heaviest  burdens  in  the  bosom  of 
Infinite  Love,  they  will  still  preserve  a tender  and  pre- 
cious memory  of  the  “ good  man.” 

Mr.  Corcoran  has  also  taken  a very  great  pride  in  the 
advancement  of  science  and  literature.  In  opening  or 
paving  the  way  to  that  inexhaustible  mine  of  learning, 
whose  riches  are  more  enduring  and  valuable  than 


10 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


gold  or  precious  stones,  he  has  said  to  the  student,  u I 
lay  before  you  the  inestimable  treasure  of  books,  whose 
pages,  well  studied  and  appreciated,  will  yield  more 
true  glory  than  any  worldly  fame  to  which  you  may 
aspire.”  The  Washington  and  Lee  University  testifies 
to  this  special  interest ; for  there,  within  its  classic  walls, 
the  youth  of  our  land  owe  a debt  of  gratitude  to  the 
donor  of  that  choice  library  of  five  thousand  volumes, 
from  whose  invaluable  fund  they  might  make  the  com- 
ing, years  lustrous  with  the  light  of  knowledge.  When 
the  blight  of  war  fell  upon  that  time-honored  institu- 
tion of  Virginia,  the  William  and  Mary  College,  that 
same  generous  hand,  so  prompt  and  willing,  bestowed 
the  first  sum  of  money  towards  raising  her  from  her 
ashes.  Donations  have  also  been  made  to  the  Univer- 
sity of  Virginia,  and  the  Virginia  Military  Institute. 
The  Columbian  College  of  Washington,  also  gives  testi- 
mony to  a most  liberal,  endowment  of  landed  property. 
A fine  building  or  hall,  inclusive  of  the  site,  is  one  of 
the  gifts,  and  is  used  as  the  medical  department  of  that 
institution.  Its  dedication  called  forth  a most  eloquent 
address  on  the  part  of  the  trustees  and  faculty.  Hospi- 
tals and  asylums  have  also  come  in  for  a goodly  share 
of  benefaction  ; and  that  true  and  sacred  asylum  for 
“ the  weary  and  heavy  laden,”  the  Church  ofi  God, 
writes  the  name  of  Corcoran  upon  her  tablets.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  recall  in  any  order  the  numer- 
ous dispensations  or  favors  benefiting  both  rich  and 
poor.  A gloria  and  thanksgiving  of  sweet  music  might 
be  rendered,  all  conditions  of  men  uniting  in  the  chorus. 
But  the  sweetest  of  all  would  be  the. grateful  songs  of 
the  orphans  of  this  city,  who  might  hold  up  a roll  of 
fifty  thousand  dollars  or  more,  saying,  “ Thus  has  he 
relieved  our  orphanage,  and  the  Lord  shall  remember 
him.”  This  same  grateful  refrain  is  also  chanted  else- 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


11 


where  by  other  orphans,  whom  distance  has  not  made 
him  lose  sight  of  or  forget.  Are  not  all  these  bright, 
sunshiny  deeds,  like  a mirror,  revealing  to  us  a picture 
of  goodness  and  benevolence  ? And  does  not  the  life 
that  has  been  so  long  fed  and  sustained  by  a happy 
conscience,  remind  us  of  the  brilliancy  and  light  of 
the  diamond,  that  rarest  gem  of  earth,  or  the  purity 
and  beauty  of  the  dew  drop,  whose  immaculateness 
is  of  heaven?  Turning  from  the  perishing  things  of 
the  world,  he  also  reflected  that  there  cometh  to  all 
men  that  great  and  important  change — the  slumber  of 
the  grave — and  so  from  his  meditations  sprung  this 
thought : “ I will  choose  a spot  to  be  made  sacred  to 
the  dead.  Its  beauty  will  lessen  the  regret  of  a fare- 
well to  life,  and  for  those  who  shall  rest  under  its 
sod,  may  there  be  unlocked  the  glories  of  the  world 
unknown ! ” Oak  Ilill  Cemetery  was  then  established 
and  endowed.  Every  year  some  new  beauty  is  added 
through  the  never  failing  interest  of  the  donor.  Situ- 
ated on  the  picturesque  heights  of  Georgetown,  it 
overlooks  a beautiful  region  of  country,  and  aflords  a 
charming  view  of  the  city  and  the  Potomac.  Not- 
withstanding the  sad  associations,  it  is  always  poetic 
and  beautiful,  whether  under  the*  fall  of  winter’s  snow, 
or  wearing  the  mantle  of  spring’s  brightest  green,  or 
when  summer’s  sunshine  wakes  the  flowers  and  tinges 
the  moss  with  emerald  loveliness.  It  was  meet  that 
this  generous  spirit  should  cast  aside  the  thought  of 
earth  and  its  vanities,  and,  remote  from  the  city’s 
sullying  breath,  select  this  loveliest  spot  of  nature, 
embalmed  with  fragrance,  shadowed  o’er  with  luxuri- 
ant foliage,  within  sound  of  the  singing  rill  and 
leaping  cascade.  And  it  may  be  well  in  God’s  wis- 
dom that  those  dearest  in  his  affections  should  first 
be  laid  to  rest  within  the  temple’s  shrine,  that  he 


12 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


might  wander  there  to  glorify  Him  “ Who  giveth  and 
taketh  away/’  and  Who  promiseth  in  their  name,  that 
he  shall  meet  them  again.  This  u come  unto  me  ” 
throws  a shadow  upon  earth,  whilst  it  brightens  the 
portals  of  the  sky  1 How  tender  and  sad  a feeling  is 
kindled  in  our  breasts  as  wre  stand  amid  the  peaceful 
shades  of  Oak  Hill,  where  so  many  that  in  life  were 
noble  and  good,  fair  and  beautiful,  are  u sleeping  their 
last  sleep ! ” There  seems  to  flit  before  our  gaze  an 
angelic  band,  our  mental  eye  straining  to  catch  the  last 
glimpse  of  the  white  robes,  ere  they  vanish  forever  into 
the  heavenly  sphere.  We  see  the  sweet  and  gentle 
maiden,  the  loveliest  flower  of  the  household,  going  to 
prepare  the  way  for  the  loved  ones  left  behind — “ the 
nursling  from  its  mother’s  arms,”  a rose-bud  to  beautify 
the  garden  of  our  Lord — the  matron,  whose  deeds  of 
love  on  earth  are  her  passport  to  the  mansions  of  bliss 
— the  young  bride  exchanging  her  wreath  of  orange 
blossoms  for  the  coronal  of  heaven — the  brave  soldier, 
whose  warfare  being  ended,  puts  on  the  armor  of  right- 
eousness— the  learned  scholar,  giving  up  the  “ lettered 
page  ” for  the  heavenly  scroll,  and  countless  others 
with  brows  bathed  in  glorious  light,  and  whose  wings 
bear  them  on  to  endless  joys  1 With  all  this  beauteous 
vision,  there  floats  on  the  ear  the  soft,  low  music  that 
was  chanted  over  the  remains  of  our  loved  ones,  as  the 
autumn  leaves  were  being  drifted  down  the  vale,  and 
the  sun  was  setting  in  solemn  beauty.  “ Lest,  spirit, 
rest ! ” was  mournfully  echoed,  but  the  thought  of 
immortality  has  robbed  it  of  its  dirge-like  cadence. 
Blest  power  of  memory  1 Ye  hath  left  an  enduring 
legacy  among  the  flowery  walks  of  Oak  Hill,  in  the 
costly  memorials  of  granite  and  marble ; in  the  myrtle 
and  blue-eyed  periwinkle,  creeping  over  many  a grave, 
as  if  in  humble  love;  in  ihe  faithful  ivy  entwining 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


13 


the  “ broken  shaft ; ” and  the  rare  exotics  of  other 
lands,  wooed  into  lending  their  beauty  to  this  consecra- 
ted soil ! Here  are  to  be  found  rare  specimens  of  South 
American  and  Asiatic  plants,  Australian  ferns,  &c., 
but  noblest  of  all  the  wealth  of  verdure,  are  the  native 
forest  oaks  that  stretch  their  sheltering  branches  like 
the  strong  arm  of  Divine  Love  over  frail,  perishing 
humanity.  To  draw  any  graphic  picture  of  the  variety 
and  beauty  of  art  in  this  cemetery,  would  occupy  too 
much  space  ; but  when  the  visitor  leaves  the  Corcoran 
Temple  of  pure  white  marble  and  Doric  architecture, 
he  must  seek  a contrast  in  the  Yan  Ness  Mausoleum 
of  sombre  hue  and  Grecian  architecture.  Here  also  in 
this  lovely  spot  has  Mr.  Corcoran  reserved  a lot  for  the 
ladies  of  the  “ Louise  Home  ” — an  institution  to  which 
we  shall  presently  allude.  What  more  touching  con- 
sideration was  ever  shown — the  twilight  of  age  soothed 
and  sustained,  and  the  darkness  of  death  lighted  by 
this  last  kind  and  thoughtful  provision ! 


Chapter  II 


q}  UKqJCe 


HE  of  the  noblest  tributes  ever  paid  to 
woman  was  the  thought  that  actuated 
Mr.  Corcoran  to  erect  the  “ Louise 
Home”  His  heart,  ever  filled  with  the 
memories  of  his  'precious  dead , throbbed 
in  sympathy  with  the  bereaved  ones  of  their  sex,  whose 
impoverishment  and  sorrow  he  bade  them  forget  in  the 
genuine  welcome  of  a friend  and  almoner.  The  ladies 


admitted  to  this  dwelling  are  educated  and  accomp- 
lished, having  basked  in  the  bright  sunshine  of  com- 
fortable means  until  the  dark  day  came,  and  the  cloud 
of  misfortune  burst  ruthlessly  upon  them. 

It  entered  into  the  religion  of  Mr.  Corcoran  to  re- 
member the  widow  as  well  as  the  orphan,  and  a digres- 
sion in  the  mention  of  the  latter  is  admissibly  in  that 
the  name  of  Louise  Eustis  must  ever  be  cherished  by 
many  bereaved  children.  She  was  like  her  father  in 
“ good  deeds ; ” so  say  those  faithful  women  wearing 
the  garb  of  Sisters  of  Charity  and  noble  ladies  of  other 
denominations.  At  the  St.  Vincent’s  Asylum  of  this 
city  hangs  her  portrait,  and  it  invokes  the  tribute  of 
a tear  as  the  little  faces  gaze  up  at  its  sweetness  and 
beauty. 

The  orphans  of  the  Protestant  Asylum  remember  a 
sad  procession  wending  its  way  to  Oak  Hill,  and  how 


THE  LOUISE  HOME. 


W.  W.  COR  COX  AN. 


15 


their  trembling  fingers  strewed  flowers  of  love  upon 
her  coffin.  At  this  beautiful  home,  named  for  herself 
and  mother,  there  are  two  representative  portraits  by 
Guillaume  which  will  hold  the  spectator  spell-hound 
by  their  serene  loveliness  and  innocence.  The  daugh- 
ter is  the  reflex  of  the  mother,  whose  mild  blue  eyes 
beam  with  the  light  of  goodness  and  amiability,  and 
in  the  portrait  of  Mrs.  Eustis  the  typical  appeal  of  the 
flower  Pensez  d moi  (that  she  holds  in  her  hand),  surely 
meets  with  a prompt  and  affectionate  response  from 
every  heart. 

The  ladies  established  at  this  retreat  have  opportuni- 
ties of  entertainment  and  diversion,  now  and  then 
tendered  by  the  host,  besides  other  friends  and  sources, 
proving  that  there  is  in  our  midst  a never  failing 
liberality  that  leans  to  the  bereaved.  Just  here  might 
be  mentioned  Mrs.  Benjamin  Ogle  Tayloe,  whose  kind 
deeds  are  well  known,  and  whose  house  has  always 
sustained  the  reputation  of  lavish  hospitality.  This 
lady  has  recently  presented  two  chairs  to  the  institu- 
tion, the  very  attractive  work  of  the  Shakers  at  Leba- 
non. A well  selected  library  is  also  furnished  for  the 
inmates,  and  there  are  some  interesting  pictures  to 
adorn  the  walls,  the  thoughtful  host  believing  not  only 
in  the  recreation  of  the  mind,  but  in  the  exercise  and 
gratification  of  the  eye.  Each  lady  resident  has  re- 
ceived a handsome  Bible  as  a gift  from  Mr.  Corcoran, 
and  this  is  a proof  that  not  only  has  their  material 
comfort  been  considered,  but  also  their  spiritual  wel- 
fare. 

The  edifice  itself  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in 
"Washington.  The  interior  is  charming  in  all  of  its 
details,  being  bright  and  cheerful,  besides  showing 
an  air  of  substantiality.  There  are  five  stories,  the 
central  portion  of  the  building  forming  a wide  open 


16 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


space,  with  encircling  galleries  to  each  tier,  upon  which 
the  bed  rooms  open.  Every  convenience  has  been  pro- 
vided, bath  rooms,  elevators,  &c.  The  supporters  are 
bronzed  iron  columns,  and  the  woodwork  is  of  black 
walnut.  The  rooms  are  all  models  of  neatness,  and 
display  in  the  little  ornaments  here  and  there,  the  re- 
fined taste  of  gentlewomen.  The  regulations  are  very 
precise,  and  can  compare  favorably  with  any  govern- 
ment institution,  where  “ order  is  the  first  law.”  The 
matron,  Miss  Lucy  Hunter,  is  admirably  chosen  for 
her  responsible  position.  Her  sweet,  expressive  face, 
like  the  Evangeline  of  Longfellow,  is  certainly  an  ac- 
quisition to  the  Home,  whilst  her  charm  of  manner  is 
ever  present,  winning  praise  from  friends  and  strangers. 
The  dining  saloon  is  on  the  ground  floor,  and  all  of  its 
appointments  correspond  with  the  elegance  above. 
We  happened  once  to  see  a meal  spread  out,  where 
was  abundance  and  a choice  serving. 

Besides  the  reception  rooms  and  ante-chambers,  there 
are  fine  grounds  outside,  the  green-sward  inviting  to 
a promenade  for  the  aged  inmates  who  do  not  care 
to  seek  exercise  in  the  public  thoroughfares.  Alto- 
gether a spirit  of  comfort  and  ease  pervades  the  place, 
and  to  those  who  are  so  happily  installed,  we  do  not 
doubt  that  the  evening  of  their  life  will  be  lit  up  with 
an  almost  hallowed  remembrance  of  the  “ good  deed” 
by  which  they  were  shielded  and  provided  for;  and 
like  Judith,  who  faithful  “ to  the  end,  walked  with 
the  angels  in  her  widow’s  weeds,”  they  will  patiently 
await  the  summons  to  that  “ Home,”  not  made  with 
hands,  “ eternal  in  the  heavens.”  The  gratitude  of 
these  ladies  is  frequently  shown  by  some  delicate  little 
attention  to  Mr.  Corcoran,  viz. : the  gift  of  a beautiful 
flower,  a note  of  exquisite  pathos,  &c.,  which  to  his 
appreciative  and  sensitive  nature,  are  worth  more  than 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


17 


gold  or  rubies ; for  his  life  is  made  rich  “ with  that 
content  the  world  takes  not  away.”  During  a severe 
illness  of  Mr.  Corcoran,  some  gentle  hand  that  had 
nurtured  at  the  “ Home”  a lily,  pure  and  spotless  as 
the  snow,  and  therefore  the  more  emblematic  of  his 
goodness,  sent  the  flower  to  him,  trusting  that  its 
poetic  language  might  convey  the  many  kindly  wishes 
for  his  restoration  to  health.  How  appropriate  such 
gifts  to  him  who  hath  caused  so  many  flowers  to 
spring  up  in  their  pathway  ! 

We  are  permitted  to  quote  the  following  beautiful 
letter  from  the  pen  of  the  distinguished  Bishop  of 
Alabama. 


New  York,  September  15,  1873. 

W.  W.  Corcoran, 

My  Dear  Friend  : — I went  up  to  Washington  a few 
days  ago,  for  the  express  purpose  of  seeing  the  “ Louise 
Home.”  I saw  a great  many  public  buildings  of  the 
city,  and  many  of  the  works  of  Art  with  which  the 
Metropolis  abounds  ; but  I saw  nothing  upon  which 
the  stamp  of  immortality  was  set  save  the  “ Louise 
Home.”  God  bless  you  ! — and  He  will  bless  you — for 
this  labor  of  love.  And  when  I looked  upon  the  beau- 
tiful face  of  her  whose  memory  must  have  inspired 
you,  and  whose  name  is  given  to  “ The  Home,”  I 
could  not  wonder  that  it  was  woman  whom  you  wished 
to  bless  with  your  beneficence.  When  I gazed  upon 
that  beautiful  face — and  I can  never  forget  it — I could 
well  understand  that  the  heart  in  which  such  a woman 
was  enshrined,  could  never  find  place  for  another  love. 
How  beautiful  are  they  who  are  prepared  for  an  early 
Heaven  ! 

But  one  thing  I missed — Will  you  pardon  me  for 
the  seeming  presumption  ? — ■“  the  oratory  ” — the  conse- 

2 


18 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


crated  “ House  of  Prayer.”  You  would  not  give  a 
denominational  character  to  the  Home.  That  is  not 
necessary.  Yo  one  is  compelled  to  attend  it.  Each 
one  is  left  free  to  individual  choice.  But  what  excep- 
tion can  be  justly  taken  to  a real  chapel  of  the  church, 
when  all  are  privileged , but  none  are  required  to  go  to 
worship  ? This  seemed  the  only  thing  lacking,  and  so* 
beautiful  and  true  a thing  should  lack  nothing. 

I feel  that,  if  you  agree  not  with  me,  you  will  pardon 
me  for  the  suggestion.  I start  in  a few  days  for  Mobile. 
I carry  with  me  no  reminiscence  so  sweet  as  that  of 
your  44  Louise  Home.”  Heaven  itself  must  be  sweeter 
to  you  for  being  the  founder  of  the  44  Louise  Home.” 
Most  truly, 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER. 

The  control  of  the  “ Louise  Home  ” is  vested  in  a 
board  of  nine  directresses,  appointed  by  Mr.  Corcoran, 
and  the  following  well  known  names  are  a sufficient 
guarantee  of  their  faithful  stewardship — Mrs.  Benjamin 
Ogle  Tayloe,  President ; Mrs.  James  M.  Carlisle,  Mrs. 
George  W.  Riggs  (since  deceased),  Mrs.  Richard  H. 
Coolidge,  Miss  Sarah  Coleman,  Mrs.  Richard  T.  Mer- 
rick, Mrs.  John  Marbury,  Sen. ; Mrs.  Beverly  Kennon, 
and  Mrs.  S.  P.  Hill.  The  Trustees  are  Messrs.  Car- 
lisle, Riggs,  Hall  and  Hyde.  Doctors  Busey  and 
Drinkard,  have  very  generously  offered  their  gratui- 
tous services  to  the  institution. 

Mr.  Corcoran  has  been  the  recipient  of  hundreds  of 
written  testimonials  of  gratitude  for  the  good  he  has 
done  in  various  ways,  and  not  only  has  woman  sent 
the  warmest  expressions  of  affection,  but  there  have 
been  acknowledgments  from  some  of  the  greatest  and 
wisest  of  men — men  who  in  our  national  councils  stood 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


19 


first  in  the  array  of  talent  and  worth.  Also  the  lamen- 
ted George  Peabody,  his  personal  friend  and  admirer, 
admitted  that  in  Mr.  Corcoran  he  had  found  a strong 
competitor  in  acts  of  benevolence.  Our  country  has 
every  right  to  be  proud  of  two  such  benefactors,  em- 
bodying the  noblest  sentiments  and  virtues,  and  who 
scattered  whilst  living  the  fruits  of  their  labors — wait- 
ing not  for  the  “ convenient  season,”  nor  for  the  time 
when  earth,  vanishing  from  the  mortal  gaze,  makes  the 
riches  of  a lifetime  as  dross  or  chaff*,  useless  and  value- 
less, at  least  to  the  possessor.  Colton  says : — u Posthu- 
mous charities  are  the  very  essence  of  selfishness,  when 
bequeathed  by  those  who,  when  alive,  would  part  with 
nothing.”  The  true  charity  is  that  which  waiting  not 
to  be  weighed,  falls  like  the  dew  in  famishing  places, 
and  is  not  inflated  with  pride  and  vanity.  There  was 
no  truer  and  fonder  tribute  paid  to  Peabody’s  bier, 
than  when  England’s  poor  wept  with  bitterness.  It 
was  far  above  the  honors  paid  by  sovereigns  and  the 
nobility,  and  the  requiem  of  the  Atlantic  waves,  as  the 
convoy  bore  him  sadly  back  to  his  native  soil  I 

There  is  one  little  sentence  of  vast  meaning  con- 
tained in  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  which  strikes 
upon  millions  of  ears  every  Sabbath,  and  yet  we  ven- 
ture to  assert  is  but  little  heeded — u Behold,  Lord  ! the 
half  of  my  goods  I give  to  the  poor.”  How  easily 
counted  are  the  followers  after  this,  because  of  the 
rarity,  and  how  much  then  does  the  world  owe  to  the 
men  who  have  not  overlooked  it.  Apart  from  the 
philanthropy  that  vaunteth  itself,  craving  worldly  ap- 
plause, and  independent  of  the  costly  edifices,  the  piled 
up  gold  and  bonds,  are  the  small  charities  which  have 
no  record,  save  in  the  hearts  of  humble,  recipients  and 
in  the  notice  of  God.  The  great  ocean,  as  it  sweeps 
on  in  its  proud  defiant  course,  is  so  overwhelming  a 


20 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


thought  in  the  mind,  that  the  tranquil  rivulet,  gliding 
gently  on  with  naught  of  force  or  impetus,  becomes  an 
insignificant  comparison  ; and  yet  the  influence  of  one 
on  the  other  cannot  be  entirely  lost  sight  of.  All  the 
grandeur  of  the  former  cannot  take  away  the  remem- 
brance of  the  sparkling  stream  that  slaked  our  thirst 
on  a weary  journey ; and  so  to  the  ppverty-stricken, 
who  have  been  refreshed  in  the  toiling  strife  of  life, 
the  smallest  gifts  have  been  mercies  not  less  dignified, 
not  less  valued  than  the  wealth  that  built  the  Vatican, 
or  the  Escurial.  This  quiet,  unostentatious  charity  has 
also  belonged  to  Mr.  Corcoran,  and  after  the  mighty 
and  limitless  sea  of  his  generous  impulse,  gentle  little 
streams  of  kindness  have  flowed  here  and  there  to 
relieve  the  necessities  of  the  obscure  and  needy. 

About  a year  ago,  a paper  of  this  city  recorded  the 
following:  “Praying  for  her  benefactor.”  “There  are 
several  poor  persons  who  have  been  in  the  habit  of  call- 
ing daily  at  the  office  of  Mr.  W.  W.  Corcoran,  and  re- 
ceiving from  him  small  sums  to  relieve  their  necessi- 
ties. A few  days  since  a feeble  old  woman  entered  the 
office  to  receive  her  contribution,  but  upon  learning 
that  Mr.  Corcoran  was  dangerously  ill,  she  showed 
much  feeling,  and  upon  going  out  fell  upon  her  knees 
at  the  street  corner  by  the  bank,  and  prayed  fervently 
for  the  recovery  of  her  benefactor.” 

So  might  we  continue  to  enumerate  benefactions, 
one  after  another,  the  list  assuming  enormous  length. 
But  there  is  one  gift  not  to  be  named  for  its  value,  but 
rather  for  the  beautiful  thought  or  idea  connected  with 
Mr.  Corcoran’s  love  and  veneration  of  the  “Father  of 
his  Country.”  Whilst  it  is  the  duty  and  cherished 
privilege  of  the  Mount  Vernon  Association  to  keep  in 
repairs  the  home  of  Washington,  and  beautify  the  es- 
tate, still  it  occurred  to  Mr.  Corcoran  to  make  a most 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


21 


expressive  and  emblematical  adornment.  The  slopes 
of  the  Potomac  where  Mount  Yernon  lies,  are  planted 
with  evergreens,  purchased  in  Europe.  Stone  and 
granite  may  tell  the  story  of  departed  worth  and  ex- 
cellence, but  their  crumbling  pieces  will  not  convey  so 
eloquently  the  sad  truth  of  what  Death  has  robbed  us, 
as  those  waving  evergreens,  singing  a dirge  with  the 
fitful  breeze. 


Chapter  III. 

ffND  now  we  come  to  that  great  and  impor- 
tant subject,  the  Fine  Arts,  which  day  by 
day  are  becoming  more  appreciated  and  find 
a rapid  increase  of  patrons.  It  is  true  that 
there  are  some  who  do  not  regard  Art  as 
an  essentiality,  and  who  are  even  indifferent  to  it  as  an 
ornament.  Viewed  favorably  by  the  masses,  in  the 
latter  sense,  does  it  not  appeal  to  the  mind  and  heart, 
and  aid  in  the  general  education?  A love  of  it  was 
handed  down  to  us  from  remote  ages,  when  painting, 
hieroglyphics  and  signs  were  the  beginning  or  the 
alpha  of  the  interesting  work.  Then  it  was  the  weak 
infant  struggling  into  being — now  it  is  the  giant,  clothed 
with  power  and  strength  ! 

We  can  even  go  back  to  the  deluge  and  the  years 
close  following,  when  sculpture  was  one  of  the  arts, 
although  perverted  in  the  form  of  idols  and  graven 
images.  Hundreds  of  years  after,  Phidias,  the  origi- 
nator of  the  ideal  style,  chiselled  statues  out  of  ivory 
and  gold,  and  still  later  the  names  of  Praxitiles  and 
Scopas  tell  of  perfection  in  the  art.  Note  the  growing 
affection  that  has  brought  these  crudities  to  the  perfect 
image  and  the  faultless  painting,  and  let  us  give  thanks 
that  the  brow  of  the  sculptor  has  been  decked  with 
brightest  laurel,  and  that  some  of  the  proudest  niches 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


23 


in  the  world’s  Temple  have  been  filled  by  soul-inspired 
artists  ! 

There  are  many  arguments  to  be  made  in  favor  of 
Art — that  glorious  handmaid  to  nature  ! Let  us  enter 
some  fine  picture  gallery  and  study  the  various  subjects. 
With  what  do  we  find  ourselves  busied?  Geography, 
History,  Mythology,  &c.,  &c.  We  see  the  imitative 
power  of  the  artist  in  the  truthful  scenes  of  nature, 
and  we  descry  a likeness  to  our  fellow-creatures  in  the 
shapely  marble  and  plaster.  Face  to  face  we  are 
brought  with  men  whose  features,  faithful  in  resem- 
blance, make  us  for  the  moment  forget  that  they 
themselves  are  crumbling  into  dust,  or  that  their  real 
substance  has  vanished  from  earth.  If  it  be  a states- 
man or  warrior,  a poet  or  astrologist,  some  special 
renpwn  or  exploit,  romance  or  spiritualized  intelligence 
will  speak  eloquently  from  the  canvas.  We  are  sud- 
denly brought  to  an  association  with  the  great  spirits 
of  the  past;  the  human  mind  is  made  to  travel  over  an 
immensity  of  space,  glorified  by  genius  and  worth, 
and  the  bare  contemplation  through  sympathy,  awak- 
ens us  to  a moral  and  intellectual  state.  Do  we  wonder 
at  the  hush  of  silence  that  frequently  pervades  galleries 
of  art,  not  less  in  Hew  York  than  in  Europe,  for  are 
there  not  impulses  at  work  u playing  an  old  tune  upon 
the  heart,”  or  otherwise  pleasurably  exercising  the 
thoughts  ? We  have  seen  a sad,  lone  woman  engrossed 
or  held  spell-bound  by  a picture  representing  u The 
Dying  Child.”  The  scene  is  painful  for  the  casual 
observer,  but  what  is  it  to  her  weeping  eyes  and  aching 
heart?  The  pale,  little  form  is  not  the  figure  of  her 
own  beloved  child,  but  the  sorrowful  reminder  of  a 
bitter  moment  when  the  Angel  of  Death  hovered  over 
her  home. 

Another  scene  may  be  recalled,  that  made  the  stout 


24 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


heart  of  the  veteran  grow  tender.  It’was  “ The  Last 
Message,”  where  a wounded  soldier,  anticipating  death, 
confides  to  a Sister  of  Charity  his  farewell  to  his  family. 
This  representation  brought  tears,  which  the  situation 
itself,  amid  the  every-day  occurrences  of  war,  may  have 
failed  to  excite.  Such  is  the  sympathetic  influence  of 
Art.  We  have  seen  sad  emotion  called  forth  by  the 
portrayal  of  a “ Bridal  Scene” — the  fair  daughter  of  a 
loving  circle  taking  upon  herself  that  holiest  of  vows ! 
Happiness  was  the  chief  element  there,  but  strange  as 
the  paradox  may  seem,  it  took  the  part  of  grief,  for  the 
lookers  on  viewed  it  through  their  own  parting  with 
an  only  daughter,  whom  seas  were  to  divide  from  their 
loving  caresses.  If  these  then,  are  some  of  the  sad 
instances  often  met  with,  the  cheerful  aspect  must  not 
be  overlooked.  We  have  seen  the  risibilities  of  a little 
child  excited,  when  upon  leaving  some  dark,  gloomy 
canvas,  he  unexpectedly  meets  the  grinning  countenance 
of  a cat,  or  a monkey  perched  on  high,  intent  on  his 
work  of  mischief.  The  silence  adverted  to  is  thus  bro- 
ken, solemnity  and  poetry  are  disturbed,  but  the  little 
one  is  paying  the  highest  tribute  to  art  by  his  merry 
ring  of  laughter,  for  so  true  is  the  picture  that  it  finds 
actual  existence  in  his  eyes. 

When  we  turn  our  steps  from  these  delightful  places, 
we  have  learned  a lesson  more  entertaining  than  that  of 
books,  having  been  brought  into  a closer  contact,  or 
formed  a stronger  tie  through  the  pleasures  of  sight  and 
memory.  In  the  same  ratio  will  the  child  become  more 
interested  in  the  tempting  fruit  that  he  sees  in  painted 
form,  than  the  fabled  grapes  Alsop  describes.  The  would- 
be  traveler,  too,  gazing  upon  pictures  of  the  grand  moun- 
tains, the  tumultuous  waves  of  ocean  , and  the  fiery, 
hissing  crater,  is  far  better  repaid  than  by  indulging  in 
the  most  vivid,  high-wrought  imagination,  or  the  most 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


25 


careful  geographical  study.  Art  has  also  a higher 
mission  than  the  mere  elevation  of  the  mind  and  the 
refinement  of  taste.  It  tends  to  the  worship  of  the 
great  Author  of  our  being;  and,  as  the  worthy  Cardinal 
Wiseman  said : u It  is  the  most  graceful  and  natural 
tribute  of  homage  we  can  pay  to  Him  for  the  beauties 
which  He  has  so  lavishly  scatterd  over  creation.  Art, 
then,  is  a reverend  thing;  one  which  must  he  treated 
with  all  nobleness  of  feeling,  and  with  all  the  dignity 
of  aim.”  See  what  the  Divine  Hand  has  lavished 
upon  our  broad  earth,  and  what  it  has  cast  into  the 
way  of  the  artist  to  portray!  The  beautiful  mountains, 
towering  to  the  clouds;  the  peaceful  valleys,  lying  as 
if  in  gentle  slumber  at  their  base;  the  magnificent  for- 
ests, teeming  with  verdure ; the  noble  rivers  and  the 
grander  ocean — and  above  all  these  things,  man,  after 
His  own  glorious  image!  With  what  a wrapt  interest 
do  we  stand  in  the  art  museums  of  the  old  world, 
before  the  faces  of  St.  Peter,  St.  Paul,  and  others  that 
walked  in  holiness,  in  the  company  of  Him  who  was 
above  all  men  the  most  saintly ! And  besides  these 
sacred  personages,  the  philosopher  and  sage,  and  noble 
women  worthy  in  good  deeds  to  immortalize  canvas. 
In  the  bright  army  of  His  creatures  there  are  names 
that  belong  to  the  golden  age  of  art ! Who  shall  speak 
the  glories  of  Raphael  and  Angelo,  Murillo  and  Titian, 
Thorwaldsen  and  Canova  ? If  the  genius  of  Europe 
treats  all  these  spheres  of  celebrity,  our  country,  still 
young,  does  bravely  her  part,  and  some  few  have  been 
prepared  to  cope  with  the  proudest  and  best  of  any  age. 

Such  names  as  West,  Powers,  Greenough,  Bierstadt, 
Cole, Craw'ford, Durand,  Healy,  Rogers,  Leutze,  Church, 
Trumbull  and  Allston,  form  a brilliant  constellation,  and 
a grateful  memory  survives  those  who  have  departed 
from  the  scene  of  their  labors.  Church’s  wonderfully 


26 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


true  delineation  of  Niagara  Falls,  with  its  fine  coloring, 
and  all  the  force  and  beauty  of  the  subject,  won  some 
of  the  highest  encomiums  at  the  Paris  Exposition  of 
1867;  and  this  is  but  one  of  the  many  works  that  have 
been  received  with  favor,  not  only  upon  our  own  shores, 
where  we  are  prone  to  lean  kindly  to  our  people,  but 
across  the  sea  in  classic  lands,  where  “ high  art”  can 
only  be  reached  by  climbing  up  to  the  altitude  of  the 
stars.  There  is  at  the  same  time  with  all  the  excel- 
lence referred  to,  a great  deal  of  the  “ wild  growth”  of 
talent  among  us;  some  artists  having  a fondness  rather 
for  accumulation,  than  a reputation  gained  by  slow 
and  sure  means.  Prolific  art  making  rapid  strides 
cannot  he  the  offspring  of  ability,  or  even  energy — it  is 
but  a dedication  to  waste  subjects,  and  not  the  moral, 
social  and  religious  truths  that  form  the  basis  of  all 
true  talent.  Apropos  we  are  reminded  at  this  juncture 
of  a remark  made  by  a foreign  professor  to  an  over- 
anxious student,  intent  on  making  himself  an  artist  at 
railroad  speed.  “ Yen  you  can  walk  den  you  shall  run, 
my  dear  high-art  student.  If  you  will  lofe  high  art, 
you  must  learn  to  live  wyout  de  rozbif  and  de  portare. 
Dere  is  only  bread  and  vater  for  de  student  of  high  art. 
But  hear  vat  I say.  It  is  all  high  art  if  dere  is  truth 
and  nature  in  it.  I have  seen  high  art  no  bigger  dan  my 
hand.  1 have  seen  no  art  at  ail  in  canvas  bigger  dan 
dis.room ,.”  Turn  we  to  the  famous  Flemish  painter, 
Antoine  Wiertz,  who  studied  art  from  the  soul,  and 
whose  pecuniary  gain  was  but  a grain  of  sand  com- 
pared with  the  golden  fruits  of  his  indomitable  desire 
to  excel.  His  works  are  of  surpassing  grandeur,  and 
the  word  insignificance  never  entered  his  lofty  mind. 
He  was  always  the  earnest  student,  honest  and  pure, 
and  so  far  superior  to  thousands  in  his  profession,  that 
at  his  death  Belgium  lost  her  brightest  star.  Wiertz’s 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


2T 


last  moments  and  thoughts  were  occupied  entirely  with 
one  thing — his  art — showing  that  when  on  the  confines 
of  eternity,  the  grand  occupation  of  his  life  merged 
into  beautiful  visions,  typical  of  heaven  and  the  angels. 
u Oh  ! what  beautiful  horizons  ! Oh  ! what  lovely  faces  ! 
Quick,  quick,  my  pallette ! my  brushes ! what  a picture 
I shall  make  !'  I will  surpass  Raphael !”  Let  then  the 
motto  for  artists  be,  “ Festina  Lente,”  and  like  Wiertz 
approach  gently,  but  surely  the  empyrean  heights  of 
fame.  Precipitancy  is  like  the  empty  bubble  that 
dances  awhile  in  the  sunbeam,  but  is  lost  by  the 
weight  of  a single  drop  of  dew.  A specialty  in  talent 
or  an  adherence  to  a particular  style,  is  too  frequently 
disregarded,  hence  the  mediocrity  of  so  many  that  take 
up  the  brush. 

Our  American  artist,  George  Catlin,  who  died  in 
Jersey  City,  at  the  age  of  seventy-six,  devoted  his  life- 
time we  may  say,  to  the  study  of  Indian  life  and 
character,  in  order  to  give  to  his  country  a faithful 
portraiture  of  the  red  men  of  the  forest.  He  literally 
pitched  his  tent  among  them,  and  fearless  and  true  to 
liis  fond  taste,  his  spirit  never  drooping  through  trials 
and  danger,  accomplished  the  ambition  of  his  life. 
Steadily  he  worked  to  leave  a monument  to  that  race 
less  favored  than  ourselves,  who,  although  rude  and 
uncivilized,  love  nature’s  haunts  and  abide  in  the  faith 
of  the  u Great  Spirit.”  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  our 
Rational  Congress  will  purchase  this  series  of  paint- 
ings, arid  not  permit  any  other  country  to  outdo  us  in 
appreciation  of  American  fame.  There  is  a word  to 
be  said  in  favor  of  the  encouragement  of  artists,  and 
especially  the  young  student  exhibiting  talent.  It  is 
the  duty  of  society  to  foster  and  reward  all  such,  and 
not  to  chill  by  indifference  their  noble  efforts.  Let  us 
draw  for  ourselves  a picture  of  the  birth  of  talent 


28 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


amid  gloom,  and  follow  it  up  to  the  sunshine  of  suc- 
cess. Years  agone  some  poor,  lone  child  is  drifted 
upon  the  ocean  of  life  without  help  or  means,  but  pos- 
sessed of  an  innate  genius  that  shall  one  day  resolve 
itself  into  an  almost  consuming  passion.  He  buffets 
the  wintry  sea.  The  clouds  grow  dark  above  him  ; no 
voice  of  friendship  is  heard  in  the  storm,  nor  does  the 
world  offer  any  haven  wherein  to  rest  his  weary  spirit. 
His  bodily  pain  finding  no  release  nor  cure,  hungry ? 
rejected,  and  almost  scorned,  he  would  fain  die;  but 
child  of  genius  as  he  is,  the  fates  decree  that  he  must 
ply  his  pathless  course,  lone  as  the  sea-bird,  and  rest- 
less as  the  waves  upon  which  he  is  tossed.  He  is  but 
a speck,  an  atom  on  the  great  deep,  and  a shadow  as 
it  were  compared  with  the  brightness  of  other  lives. 
After  awhile  the  frowning  sky  changes,  the  clouds  are 
lifted,  and  the  Star  of  Hope  shines  out.  Through  faith 
he  is  promised  a bright  mission,  and  his  feeble  hand 
grasps  the  artist’s  brush.  Years  of  patient  toil  and  en- 
durance bring  new  vigor  to  his  life,  and  compensate 
him  with  success.  His  mind  is  stocked  with  the  beau- 
tiful creations  with  which  he  will  surprise  the  world, 
and  gain  its  noblest  panegyrics.  The  hour  at  last 
comes  when  the  brow  that  was  pierced  by  the  thorns 
of  poverty  wears  the  wreath  of  laurel,  and  the  spirit 
that  was  crushed  through  indifference,  is  buoyant  with 
worldly  applause.  And  to  whom  shall  go  his  thanks 
or  gratitude?  First  to  the  Divine  Protector,  who 
saves  the  tempest-tossed  child  of  faith,  and  to  the  few 
noble  ones  who  helped  the  impulse,  and  brought  out 
from  the  studio  the  works  of  his  meritorious  labor. 
The  opening  of  the  purse  occasionally  to  the  progres- 
sive student,  will  stimulate  his  ambition  and  give  a 
holiday  to  his  constant  work.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  there  is  not  more  of  this  encouragement.  That 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


29 


woman  especially,  to  whom  riches  and  opportunity  are 
given,  does  not  think  more  of  the  toiling  struggling 
artist.  Her  mansion  is  enriched  by  gorgeous  furni- 
ture and  silverware,  her  person  decked  with  satins  and 
jewels,  and  yet  sometimes  there  is  not  a single  picture 
nor  print  to  adorn  the  walls.  Even  her  nursery  is 
devoid  of  some  pleasant  souvenir  of  the  44  cunning 
hand”  that  mixes  the  colors  and  weaves  them  into 
beautiful  desigus,  and  surely  to  the  little  children  of 
that  house  these  things  would  prove  an  attraction,  and 
a most  educational  pastime.  If  the  toy  gives  happi- 
ness, so  may  the  picture,  and  there  is  one  thing  in 
which  the  latter  gains  the  advantage.  It  suffers  not 
the  degradation  of  a kick,  neither  falls  victim  to  de- 
structive little  fingers,  but  keeps  its  place  on  the  wall, 
and  frequently  a fretted,  wearied  child  will  fall  asleep 
with  his  eyes  lingering  on  a pretty  bunch  of  flowers,  a 
landscape  view,  or  that  more  suggestive  figure  of 44  little 
Samuel  at  prayer.”  These  small  beginnings  are  invalu- 
ble  auxiliaries,  and  the  expenditure  of  fifty  cents  only 
on  a little  print  or  chromo  will  after  awhile  invite  to 
the  appreciation  and  purchase  of  some  fine  work  of  art 
that  otherwise  would  vainly  elicit  a thought.  This  is 
proved  by  an  instance  in  Paris,  where  an  American 
lady  of  fortune  was  passing  by  a little  girl — a street 
vender  of  small  wares.  The  child  thrust  before  her 
eyes  a picture,  saying, 44  Achetez  une  jolie  gravure,  s’il 
vous  plait,”,  but  the  lady  unwilling  to  be  interrupted, 
continued  on  her  way  a few  steps,  showing  a decided 
air  of  annoyance.  French  persuasion  and  persistency 
were  not  to  be  rebuffed,  however,  and  a pair  of  sparkling 
eyes  followed  up  the  richly  attired  dame,  and  a plead- 
ing voice  reiterated,  44  Madame,  s’il  vous  plait,  seule- 
ment  un  moment  1 Regardez  cette  gravure — un  pauvre 
Savoyard  d’ltalie  ! ” Her  quick  little  fingers  held  up 


30 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


again  the  picture — the  figure  of  a sad-looking  youth, 
holding  the  violin,  and  in  whose  eyes  was  a depth  of 
feeling  that  might  have  sold  the  article  twice  over. 
A single  glance  bestowed  by  the  lady  effected  the 
purchase.  It  was  not  the  importunate  girl,  but  rather 
that  little  something  -that  so  frequently  in  this  world 
of  ours  touches  a chord  in  the  human  heart.  A few 
days  later  we  met  this  same  lady,  accompanied  by  a 
female  friend,  in  one  of  the  magnificent  stores  on  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli.  The  surroundings  were  of  a character 
both  elegant  and  attractive,  there  being  a triple  range 
of  statuettes,  busts,  mosaics,  and  beautiful  paintings 
on  canvas  and  porcelain  to  charm  the  eye.  Whilst 
picture  after  picture  was  showed  by  the  polite  sales- 
man, the  following  conversation  ensued  between  the 
ladies : 

“ Are  you  in  search  of  any  particular  thing?” 

“ Ho.  I was  rather  beguiled  into  this  place  because 
I happened  to  think  of  a little  picture  I bought  a day 
or  two  ago  on  the  street — the  simplest  thing  of  all  my 
purchases  in  the  space  of  ten  months.” 

The  eager  Frenchman,  interpreting  the  meaning, 
and  trusting  to  the  favorable  opportunity,  presented  to 
their  notice  an  exquisite  porcelain  type,  the  subject 
being  a Swiss  Lake  with  snow-capped  mountains  in 
the  distance,  and  afterwards  an  oil  painting  of  Ophelia — 
so  true  to  the  poor  distracted  girl,  that  these  words 
involuntarily  came  to  our  minds: 

“ There  is  a willow  grows  ascaunt  the  brook, 

That  shows  his  hoar  leaves  in  the  glassy  stream  ; 

Therewith  fantastic  garlands  did  she  make 
Of  Crow-Flowers,  Nettles,  Daisies,  and  Long  Purples.” 

u Yes  !”  continued  the  interested  lady,  addressing  her 
friend ; “ It  is  strange  that  I never  had  before  an  espe- 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


31 


cial  taste  for  pictures,  but  since  I have  made  a beginning 
in  an  inferior  line,  the  crevices  in  my  trunks  will  doubt- 
less be  filled  up  with  other  small  gravures,  bought 
on  the  sidewalks,  and  I shall  find  myself  sending  to 
America,  such  a collectibn  as  will  reduce  my  purse 
several  thousand  francs.55 

It  need  only  be  stated  that  “ Ophelia”  wTas  bought, 
and  two  other  paintings  equally  as  valuable,  and  we 
left,  seeing  the  salesman’s  face  aglow,  and  our  country- 
woman converted  into  an  admirer  of  art,  from  one 
simple  little  act  of  charity,  called  forth  by  a street 
beggar,  and  mostly  by  the  pitiful  sympathy-invoking 
features  of  the  Savoyard  boy.  It  must  then  be  allowed 
that  art,  however  simple,  performs  its  part  in  the  work 
of  educating  or  improving  the  mind,  and  that  its 
smallest  features  are  not  the  cheapest  or  most  unim- 
portant. Magnetism  from  the  tiniest  atom,  will  bring 
about  those  magnificent  corruscations  that  blind  the 
eye  and  thrill  the  seuses ; the  humblest  beginnings 
have  grown  or  developed  into  regal  acts,  and  from  the 
blackness  of  ignorance  has  sprung  the  splendor  of 
knowledge.  The  acknowledged  charm  in  these  little 
objects  of  art  is  the  pathos  that  they  convey.  A strain 
of  fine  delicate  mrfcsic  will  surprise  and  interest  the 
rude  listener,  his  dormant  ear  is  opened  for  the  first 
time,  and  a gentle  appeal  made  to  his  heart.  It  is  not 
the  blast  of  power  or  grandeur  that  most  moves  and 
enthrals  us,  but  rather  the  mild  tone,  the  faint  strain, 
and  to  adopt  a poetical  thought,  “ the  fair  imagery  of 
the  real  essence.55  We  are  to  reach  after  the  grander 
things  by  little  steps  and  a patient,  slow  acquaintance, 
remembering  the  principles  by  which  the  heights  of 
fame  were  gained.  Then  we  shall  have  viewed  the 
origin  of  art,  living  in  the  studio,  amidst  the  hopes, 
fears,  and  labor  of  the  artist,  and  understanding  the 


32 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


force,  eloquence  and  immensity  of  this  thought — “ An 
atom  made  the  world,  a drop  the  ocean  !” 

Hill(ard,  whose  travels  in  Italy  brought  out  some 
very  interesting  sketches  of  art  galleries,  says,  very 
truthfully,  “ Many  persons  feel  art ; some  understand 
it ; but  few  both  feel  and  understand  it.”  Which,  then, 
is  the  most  compensative?  To  feel  is  a pleasure  made 
up  of  exuberance  and  passion ; to  understand  is  the 
intellectual  delight,  bringing  perhaps  less  fervor,  but 
more  complete  satisfaction ; and  the  two  combined  is 
that  happy  blending  of  force  and  beauty,  heart  and 
mind,  whereby  the  natural  spontaneity  and  the  culti- 
vated grace  are  equalized.  It  is  imputed  to  Raphael 
that  he  felt  too  deeply  the  power  of  his  last  labor  of 
genius,  “ The  Transfiguration.”  This  wonderful  picture 
engrossing  all  his  thoughts,  increased  his  activity,  and 
over-excited  his  mind.  Suddenly,  he  obeyed  the  Divine 
summons,  and  left  unfinished  his  work.  But  it  was  a 
cherished  souvenir  of  the  immortal  master,  and  his  last 
occupation,  and  therefore  at  his  funeral  was  placed  near 
his  remains,  standing  out  in  glowing  beauty  over  the 
marble-like  face  and  folded  hands.  Like  some  bright 
star  that  scintillates  and. shoots  out  splendor  in  the 
darkness  of  night,  so  did  the  “Transfiguration”  steal 
from  the  sadness  of  Raphael’s  death  by  its  sublimity, 
and  the  thought  that  as  long  as  the  world  exists  would 
his  glorious  fame  keep  brightening. 

It  is  recorded  that  Sophocles  died  of  joy  when  his 
last  tragedy  was  crowned  with  success.  And  Raphael 
too,  may  have  so  far  imbued  his  spirit  in  sympathy 
with  the  celestial,  that  it  seemed  a fitting  time  to 
float  away  in  the  very  atmosphere  that  breathed  of 
the  Saviour,  and  was  made  glorious  by  His  presence. 
Art,  then,  hath  made  votaries  the  most  devoted,  and 
brought  its  worship  up  to  the  dizziest  heights  of 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


38 


transcendentalism.  Oft  the  subject  or  the  theme  in- 
spires to  such  a great  degree  that  the  outside  world 
is  forgotten,  the  very  being  or  existence  becomes  en- 
tranced, and  the  hand  that  traces  deftly  and  won- 
drously,  seems  almost  an  unconscious  instrument  sent 
from  heaven  itself  to  accomplish  something  grand  and 
noble.  It  is  not  all  fiction  when  we  hear  or  read  of 
some  worshiping  spirit  gazing  at  a beautiful  model, 
and  as  each  moment  of  inspiration,  if  not  adoration, 
goes  on,  a dangerous  delight  takes  possession  of  the 
mind.  There  may  be  some  hidden  influence,  some  asso- 
ciation or  link  that  has  either  made  life  beautiful  or 
sad  ; but  the  heart  is  moved,  and  its  tension  so  exquis- 
itely strained,  that  to  die  is  but  a little  thing  weighed 
against  the  happiness  or  delirium  of  the  moment. 

At  the  famous  Louvre  in  Paris,  they  tell  of  a young 
girl  who  day  by  day  wended  her  way  to  one  of  the 
galleries,  where  was  exhibited  a most  splendid  statue, 
and  after  an  idolatrous  worship,  which  seemed  to  sap 
and  weaken  with  every  visit  the  very  springs  of  life, 
her  soul  yielding  its  all  to  this  fair  counterfeit,  she 
finally  closed  her  eyes  in  death,  content  to  bear  off  as  a 
last  remembrance  this  beloved  image  to  the  invisible 
land.  The  marble  looked  rigidly  down  on  the  uncon- 
scious form  that  was  assuming  a hue  as  peerless  as  its 
own.  Like  the  flowers  she  bore  to  wreathe  its  base,  will 
sweet  pansies  of  thought  garland  her  name,  and  pay 
votive  tribute  to  the  life  that  faded  away  under  an 
influence  which  the  world  may  not  dare  to  question. 
A poet  in  one  of  his  most  gifted  strains,  depicts  the 
history  of  an  artist,  who,  upon  executing  the  por- 
trait of  the  woman  he  had  faithfully  loved  during 
her  brief,  sorrowful  life,  said  to  the  spectre  death,  in 
words  that  rendered  not  only  his  art  immortal,  but 
the  subject : — 


3 


34 


A TRIBUTE . 


“Take  me  ! if  I outlived  the  patriarchs, 

I could  but  paint  those  features  o’er  and  o’er. 

Lo  ! that  is  done  l” 

And  thus  was  finished  in  a moment  of  ecstasy,  a life 
crowned  resplendently  by  the  twin  powers  of  genius  and 
sentiment.  The  artistes  labor  of  love  had  reached  its 
goal  on  earth,  and  the  heaven  lay  beyond ! The  cold 
and  unappreciative  world  may  call  these  instances  ex- 
aggerated, and  violently  inimical  to  art,  since  by  the 
spirit  succumbing  wholly  to  that  indefinable  power  of 
blissful  emotion,  the  purpose  and  work  of  life  are  sud- 
denly wrecked.  But  as  the  noblest  ships  are  stranded 
in  a single  moment,  going  down  in  the  waters  with 
only  a stifled  cry,  so  have  the  children  and  worshipers 
of  genius  sunk  under  the  'weight  of  emotion  with  moie 
of  a welcome  to  death  than  a sigh  of  regret. 


Chapter  IV. 


CoS^qjCq 

AVINGr  given  a summary  of  the  uses  and 
^ advantages  of  art,  its  stern  requirements, 
as  well  as  its  gentle  and  poetical  influ- 
ences, we  are  glad  to  turn  to  that  munifi- 
cent patron,  Mr.  Corcoran,  who  recognizing 
fully  what  we  have  feebly  attempted  to  handle,  has  pre- 
sented to  our  nation  an  enduring  monument  to  genius, 
a building  dedicated  to  art,  and  a superb  collection  of 
paintings,  statuary,  &c.  This  noble  edifice  is  the  high- 
est proof  of  the  grandeur  of  art  influencing  the  human 
mind  as  well  as  the  affections,  and  it  points  not  less  at 
the  generosity  of  the  donor  than  his  cultured  taste  and 
enthusiastic  appreciation.  Not  only  are  the  citizens  of 
Washington  grateful,  but  our  whole  country  will  honor 
this  patron  as  the  years  glide  on,  adding  to  the  list  of 
admiring  thousands.  It  is  not  alone  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  rare  works  that  pleasure  is  granted,  but  a love 
of  the  beautiful  is  fostered,  and  the  sentiments  of  nature 
are  elevated  and  spiritualized.  Such  association  subdues 
and  reforms  our  coarse  materialism.  The  realm  of 
nature  needs  some  direct  pleasing  influence  to  give  it 
tone  and  character,  truth  and  virtue,  and  the  atmos- 
phere of  art  is  therefore  as  important  to  it  as  sunlight 
to  earth.  Our  intellect  and  fancy  must  both  be  fed,  for 
it  is  not  allotted  for  us  to  live  merely  for  creature  com- 


36 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


forts  and  indulgences.  There  will  come  to  this  intellec- 
tual shrine  uncounted  numbers  of  men,  women  and 
children,  in  the  breasts  of  some  of  whom  but  little  of 
the  real  Promethean  fire  or  enthusiasm  will  sparkle; 
still,  even  a step  toward  the  object  in  view  is  a point 
gained,  and  soon  the  cultivated  taste  may  follow.  We 
know  that  the  ugly,  uninteresting  root,  begrimed  with 
dust,  shoots  up  into  the  lovely  flower,  and  may  not 
rugged  minds  also  put  forth  beauty  of  instruction  ? To 
those  fully  alive  to  the  attractions  of  art,  the  Corcoran 
gallery  will  be  a treasure  house,  where  they  must  linger 
long,  keenly  sensitive  to  the  amount  of  talent  garnered 
within  those  stately  walls.  They  will  feel  around  them 
the  breath  of  genius,  wThich  their  slightest  whispers  shall 
fear  to  disturb ; they  will  see  the  canvas  graced  by  a 
peasant’s  bright  eyes,  adding  to  it  the  surmise  of  some 
grave,  perhaps  wrinkled  face — this  last  the  artist’s — and 
praise  and  sympathy  will  go  out  together  from  their 
generous  hearts.  In  a word,  their  own  delicate  taste 
and  refinement  will  find  a sister  spirit  in  congeniality, 
and  the  meeting  will  partake  of  a rhapsody,  so  full  and 
complete  will  it  be.  The  works  are  well  chosen,  and  the 
colors  of  some  from  that  classic  land  across  the  sea,  fair 
Italy,  are  like  the  tints  of  her  wondrous  skies,  where 
the  roses’  crimson  dye  and  the  violets’  tender  blue  are 
blended  in  sympathy  with  the  purple  of  the  grape  and 
the  sunlight’s  gold.  Here  is  life  pictured  so  true  and 
beauteous  that  we  dream  many  an  hour  away  in  pleas- 
ant reveries,  and  steep  our  souls  in  an  intoxication  of 
delight,  quaffing  delicious  draughts  from  that  rare  and 
intellectual  fount,  the  communion  of  spirit  with  art,  and 
the  oblivion  of  self  1 If  our  meed  of  praise  goes  out 
abundantly  to  foreign  lands,  we  are  not  without  our 
loyal  homage  to  the  artists  of  our  own  country.  If  we 


W.  W.  CORCORAN’. 


37 

have  bestowed  the  flowery  chaplet  beyond  these  beloved 
shores,  we  have  still  reserved  a dainty  blossom,  with 
the  magic  savor  of  “ honor  to  whom  honor  is  due.” 
This  magnificent  institution  has  a frontage  of  one  hun- 
dred and  four  feet  on  Pennsylvania  avenue,  and  one 
hundred  and  twenty-four  on  Seventeenth  street,  and  is 
of  the  Renaissance  style  of  architecture.  Many  of  us 
have  watched  with  interest  the  laying  of  its  stones  until 
it  was  reared  into  a fitting  structure,  to  meet  proudly 
the  bright  rays  of  the  midday  sun,  and  the  mellowed 
hues  of  the  twilight  heaven.  For  a time  it  subserved 
other  purposes  than  those  for  which  it  was  destined,  but 
that  was  at  a crisis  in  our  country’s  history  when  inex- 
orable war  demanded  not  only  public  buildings,  but  the 
sanctuary  of  God. 

When  those  dark  days  were  past,  Mr.  Corcoran  in- 
augurated his  splendid  gift  by  a grand  ball,  given  on 
the  anniversary  of  Washington’s  birth,  its  proceeds 
being  devoted  to  the  Washington  monument  fund. 
The  cost  of  the  entertainment  was  in  accordance  with 
his  most  liberal  and  munificent  ideas.  The  time  was 
propitious,  the  event  occurring  two  years  since,  during 
those  brilliant  days  of  the  carnival,  which  have  left  a 
pleasant  memory  in  the  minds  of  thousands.  There 
had  just  been  celebrated  the  progress  of  vast  improve- 
ments at  the  National  Capital.  Our  broad  and  beauti- 
ful Pennsylvania  avenue  had  been  repaved,  and  on  this 
grand  thoroughfare,  vieing  with  the  Champs  Elys^es, 
were  splendid  equipages,  gaily  caparisoned  animals  a 
la  Tournament,  wheelbarrow  and  goat  racing,  and 
what  not , to  add  to  the  hilarity  of  a carnival  scene? 
Nothing  was  left  undone  through  the  generous  enter- 
prise of  the  citizens  to  make  it  a complete  success,  in 
which  they  were  not  disappointed.  In  conjunction 


38 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


with  these  efforts  of  the  people,  was  “ the  ball  ” at  the 
Corcoran  Art  Gallery,  which  par  excellence  bore  off' the 
palm  of  the  evening,  although  the  masquerading  spirit 
had  its  share  of  glory  at  the  National  Theatre,  the 
civic  at  Masonic  Hall,  and  the  tournament  at  Marini’s 
Academy.  Besides^  these  brilliant  assemblages,  all 
Washington  was  a blaze  of  light  and  beauty  with  fire- 
works, transparencies,  calcium  lights,  torches,  illumi- 
nations, etc.,  whilst  from  the  proudest  edifice  of  all — 
the  Capitol — streamed  the  all  powerful  electric  light; 
worthy,  indeed,  to  lend  to  the  scene  its  radiant  effect. 
It  becomes  us  now  to  allude  especially  to  the  Corcoran 
fete,  which  opened  as  it  were  by  fairy  touch  the  grand 
gallery,  and  gathered  together  the  fairest  of  women, 
and  bravest  of  men.  They  met  beneath  its  roof,  a 
delighted  company  to  pay  homage  to  the  host,  who 
stood  to  receive  them  with  gracious,  modest  dignity — 
the  peer  of  nobles,  and  a true  specimen  of  American 
chivalry  and  grace.  The  event  will  long  be  remem- 
bered, and  the  walls  that  now  glow  with  the  artist’s 
colors,  were  unadorned  save  where  the  draped  banners 
and  national  fla^s  threw  their  folds  against  the  white 
background,  unless  we  except  with  pride  the  portraits 
of  three  men  whose  names  liVe  fondly  in  American 
history — Washington,  Jackson  and  Clay.  At  the  head 
of  the  magnificent  stairway,  covered  with  crimson  vel- 
vet tapestry,  and  flanked  with  exotics,  was  also  a por- 
trait of  Washington,  with  the  words,  “ Pater  Patriae 
a title  so  well  deserved,  that  the  Old  and  the  New 
World  rejoice  at  its  mention.  In  the  octagon  room, 
the  guests  were  all  attracted  to  the  superb  painting  of 
Mr.  Corcoran  by  Elliott,  that  very  eminent  and  worthy 
artist.  Delightful  music  floated  through  the  saloons, 
and  sweet  flowers — the  camelia  and  violet  predomiuat- 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


39 


ing — added  a tender  charm;  the  faint  notes  of  canary 
birds  mingled  with  the  clarionet,  and  the  happiness 
that  reigned  was  like  unto  their  trillings.  But  now 
a different  scene  presents  itself.  The  bright-eyed  belle 
is  no  longer  flushed  with  the  excitement  of  the  dance  ; 
the  grave  men  of  letters  and  the  statesman  are  not 
wondering  at  the  intricacies  of  Strauss’  fascinating 
waltzes ; the  military  hero  who  has  returned  to  his 
tactics,  enters  these  halls  with  more  solemn  tread,  for 
he  and  they  stand  before  some  of  the  grandest  produc- 
tions of  genius  that  tell  of  the  earnest  purpose  of  life, 
the  hours  of  toil,  pleasure  and  pain.  The  goddess 
that  ruled  that  gay  and  festive  scene  sits  now  in  digni- 
fied repose,  for  where  the  baton  waved,  is  spread  out 
the  glory  that  attaches  to  art. 

Mr.  Corcoran  has  selected  as  a board  of  trustees  for 
the  gallery  some  of  our  most  valued  citizens,  and 
we  recognize  in  the  following  names,  gentlemen  of 
culture  and  refinement,  and  in  every  way  worthy  of 
the  calling,  to  wit:  Jas.  M.  Carlisle  (President),  who 
has  worn  the  legal  mantle  with  honor  and  brilliant 
success  ; J.  C.  Hall  (Vice  President),  the  distinguished 
physician,  whose  name  is  a household  word  with  the 
people  of  Washington ; George  W.  Biggs  (Treasurer), 
the  former  partner  of  Mr.  Corcoran,  the  popular  banker 
and  possessor  of  a princely  fortune  ; Anthony  Hyde 
(Secretary),  the  intimate  friend  and  confidential  agent 
of  Mr.  Corcoran,  and  noted  for  his  high-toned  character 
and  genial  manners ; Henry  D.  Cooke,  former  Gover- 
nor of  the  District ; Charles  M.  Mathews,  an  elegant 
and  polished  gentleman ; Prof.  Joseph  Henry,  the  distin- 
guished scientist ; Jas.  C.  McGuire,  a patron  of  the  fine 
arts,  and  a wealthy  and  respected  citizen ; and  Mr.  Wm, 
T.  Walters,  of  Baltimore,  to  whose  superior  taste  and 


40 


A' TRIBUTE  TO 


judgment  in  matters  of  art  the  gallery  bears  evidence. 
The  recent  choice  selections  he  was  deputized  to  make 
in  Europe,  cannot  fail  to  delight  the  most  fastidious 
connoisjburs.  Mr.  Wm.  MacLeod  has  been  appointed 
curator,  and  Dr.  Barbarin,  assistant,  both  gentlemen 
being  admirably  fitted  for  their  responsible  positions. 
In  May,  1870,  Congress  passed  an  act  of  incorporation, 
and  also  authorized  a liquidation  of  the  indebtedness 
of  the  government,  for  the  use  of  the  ground  and 
edifice  during  the  war.  The  exterior  of  the  building 
is  of  fine  brick,  ornamented  with  Belleville  freestone. 
There  are  various  designs  appertaining  to  the  arts, 
niches  waiting  to  be  appropriately  filled,  fluted  pil- 
asters and  columns,  the  monogram  of  the  donor,  and 
not  least  the  simple  yet  significant  words — “ Dedicated 
to  Art.”  A Mansard  roof  surmounts  the  building, 
adding  to  the  general  stateliness.  The  interior  is  most 
admirably  planned  and  reflects  great  credit  upon  the 
New  York  architect,  Jas.  Ren  wick.  The  ground  floor 
contains  the  furnaces  and  storage  rooms,  and  the  other 
two  stories  are  devoted  to  the  exhibition  of  sculpture 
and  paintings.  Facing  the  grand  entrance  is  a superb 
staircase  of  freestone,  ten  feet  wide,  with  an  iron  balus- 
trade leading  up  to  the  main  gallery,  and  on  each  side 
of  the  stairs  are  handsome  passages,  with  marble 
tilings.  At  the  right  of  the  entrance  are  the  apart- 
ments of  the  janitor,  and  facing  these  is  a large  room, 
richly  carpeted  and  furnished,  for  the  use  of  the  trus- 
tees, back  of  which  extends  the  library.  The  sculp- 
ture gallery  on  this  floor,  at  the  rear  of  the  building, 
measures  in  length  96  feet  4 inches,  by  25  feet  wide, 
and  is  lighted  by  ten  windows.  Two  rooms  connect 
with  this  gallery,  and  will  be  used  for  a school  of  de- 
sign. All  the  columns  about  the  building  are  white, 


TV.  TV.  CORCORAN. 


41 


with  Grecian  caps,  and  the  wainscoting,  doors,  &c.,  of 
black  walnut.  The  grand  picture  gallery  above  is  also 
at  the  rear  of  the  edifice,  and  is  45  feet  wide  by  96 
feet  4 inches  long.  The  skylight  produces  a beautiful 
efifect  upon  the  paintings,  and  can  be  regulated  as  to 
quantity,  and  at  night  285  gas  jets  suddenly  flash  into 
brilliancy  by  means  of  electricity.  The  cornices  and 
ceilings  of  the  galleries  are  ornamented  writh  panels 
and  mouldings,  to  represent  American  foliage.  The 
octagon  room,  with  skylight,  is  appropriated  to  the 
Greek  Slave,  by  Powers.  The  walls  are  covered  with 
a rich  crimson  to  enhance  the  purity  of  the  marble,  and 
afford  a decided  contrast.  The  other  rooms  on  this 
floor  are  of  fine  proportions,  and  connect  with  each 
other  so  as  to  form  an  unbroken  passage.  The  books 
or  registers  of  the  gallery,  are  very  complete  in  their 
several  uses,  and  will  furnish  the  names  of  visitors,  of 
artists,  and  their  works  on  exhibition,  and  of  paint- 
ings belonging  to  the  gallery,  the  contributors,  &c. 
The  crowning  specimen  of  sculpture  is  the  Greek 
Slave,  and  now  its  value  seems  to  increase  tenfold,  in 
that  the  hand  that  fashioned  it  is  as  cold  and  pulseless 
as  the  marble.  The  beauty  of  the  following  stanzas 
by  Robert  S.  Chilton,  will  doubtless  lend  a new  inter- 
est to  the  faultless  stone,  and  invest  it  with  life  that 
else  were  not  thought  of  in  its  mute  repose: 

“A  flash  of  sabres  and  of  scimitars, 

Shouts,  groans,  then  silence  ; and  the  crescent  waves 
Victorious  o’er  the  held  where  in  their  graves 
The  vanquished  dead  will  moulder.  But  such  wars 
Have  woes  that  stab  the  Grecian  mother’s  heart 
Deeper  than  death.  In  far  Byzantium’s  mart 
She  sees  her  captive  child,  naked,  forlorn, 

Gazed  at  by  pitiless  eyes — a thing  of  scorn. 


42 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


With  face  averted  and  with  shackled  hands, 

Clothed  only  with  her  chastity,  she  stands. 

Her  heart  is  full  of  tears,  as  any  rose 
Bending  beneath  a shower  ; but  pride  and  scorn, 

And  that  fine  feeling  of  endurance  born, 

Have  strung  the  delicate  fibres  of  her  frame 
Till  not  a tear  can  fall ! Methinks  such  woes 
As  thine,  pale  sufferer,  might  rend  in  twain 
A heart  of  sterner  stuff,  and  yet  the  flame 
Of  tliy  pure  spirit,  like  the  sacred  light 
On  Hestia’s  hearth,  burns  steadily  and  bright, 

Unswayed  by  sorrow’s  gusts,  unquenched  by  sorrow’s  rain. 

Thou  can’st  confront,  dumb  marble  as  thou  art, 

And  silence  those  whose  lying  lips  declare 
That  virtue  springs  from  circumstance,  not  God  ; 

The  snow  that  falls  where  never  foot  hath  trod, 

On  bleakest  mountain  heights,  is  not  more  pure 
Than  thy  white  soul,  though  thou  stands’t  naked  there, 

Gazed  at  by  those  whose  lustful  passions  start 
With  every  heart  throb  ! Long  may’st  thou  endure 
To  vanquish  with  thy  calm,  immaculate  brow, 

The  unholy  thoughts  of  men,  as  thou  dost  now  ! ” 

The  direct  history  of  this  statue  by  Powers  (or  the 
circumstances  attending  the  modeling),  has  been  given 
to  the  44  Kew  York  World,”  by  a correspondent  abroad. 
It  points  to  one  of  our  countrymen  about  thirty  years 
ago,  whose  domestic  sorrows  and  poverty  in  a 44  strange 
land,”  were  relieved  by  the  faithful  love  of  a daughter, 
powerless  to  help  him  otherwise  than  by  consenting  to 
become  the  model  for  the  44  Slave.”  Beauty  of  form 
and  features  fade  into  insignificance  compared  with  a 
filial  love  that  even  surpassing  that  of  the  Roman 
daughter  who  nourished  her  starving  father  in  prison, 
felt  no  sacrifice  nor  duty  too  great  or  painful.  Why  is 
it  that  such  an  incident  brings  more  potently  than  ever 
to  our  minds  the  truth  of  the  allegory,  44  no  cross — no 
crown  1”  for  certainly  to  this  faithful  child,  grief  and 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


43 


poverty  brought  the  burden  of  a cross  that  many 
would  have  sunk  under,  rather  than  to  have  risen  from. 
But  faith  was  the  stepping  stone,  and  duty  the  goal, 
and  through  her  brave  strugglefor  relief,  the  sorrow  of 
earth  *made  the  promise  of  heaven  the  brighter.  Mrs. 
Caroline  Lee  Hentz  has  beautifully  defined  “ no  cross — 
no  crown!”  when  she  says:  “It  is  the  slogan  of  life,” 
the  victor-anthem  of  death  ; the  chorus  of  “ eternity  ;” 
and  truly  to  those  who  have  borne  the  one,  and  shall 
claim  the  “ coronal  that  endurance  wears,”  the  words  * 
are  singularly  adapted.  In  the  Greek  Slave  there  is 
real  poetry  of  pose,  and  sweetness  of  facial  expression. 
In  the  beautiful  and  graceful  arms  there  is  great , 
symmetry,  and  in  the  no  less  perfect  hand,  there  lies  a 
world  of  expression.  Altogether  the  extreme  purity 
and  chastity  would  impress  one  with  the  ideal  style 
more  than  the  natural.  Flaxman  makes  a distinction 
between  the  two,  in  this  wise : The  natural  is  defined 
thus — “a  representation  of  the  human  form,  according 
to  the  distinction  of  sex  and  age,  in  action  or  repose, 
expressing  the  affections  of  the  soul,”  and  the  ideal  has 
this  addition — ■“  selected  from  such  perfect  examples  as 
may  excite  in  our  minds  a conception  of  the  prefer- 
natural.”  Calmness,  gentleness  and  modesty  all  speak 
in  this  statue,  where  sorrow,  fear  and  despair  might  each 
contend.  It  is  the  exemplar  too  of  those  heroic  quali- 
ties of  which  our  sex  are  capable  under  distressing  cir- 
cumstances— the  same  courage  and  resignation  with 
which  martyrs  met  the  flame  or  tortures  the  keenest 
and  most  cruel ; in  a word,  it  is  spirit  prevailing  over 
flesh,  and  subservient  to  the  decrees  of  fate.  In  this 
same  octagon  room  are  also  fine  marble  busts  of  Shaks- 
peare,  the  veiled  nun  (copy),  II  Penseroso,  by  Rinehart, 
and  Bacchante,  by  Galt.  A fine  collection  of  Barye 
bronzes,  numbering  60  pieces,  recently  purchased  in 


44 


A TRIBUTE . 


Europe,  has  been  arranged  in  the  library,  besides  a 
Majolica  vase  of  large  proportions,  elevated  on  a pedes- 
tal ; also  several  exquisite  vases  from  Sevres,  and  still 
another  of  a rare  tint  of  green  from  Berlin.  Some 
other  rare  works  of  art  consist  of  plates,  dishes, ’vases, 
cups,  &c.,  and  are  the  reproduction  of  articles  dis- 
covered at  Hildesheim,  Saxony,  on  the  site  of  a former 
Roman  camp.  The  workmanship  on  metal  is  worth  a 
close  study,  and  the  revival  of  such  pleasing  designs 
•in  these  days,  would  certainly  find  admirers  and  pur- 
chasers. There  are  two  marble  busts  of  Commodore 
Morris  and  Vice  President  Breckinridge,  to  add  to  the 
attractions,  and  near  the  grand  stairway  in  the  hall 
we  find  a colossal  bust  of  Napoleon,  by  Canova,  and 
one  of  Humboldt,  by  Rauch,  of  Berlin. 


THE  CORCORAN  ART  GALLERY. 


Chapter  V 


JUE  main  gallery  of  paintings  we  now  desire 
u to  make  a separate  theme.  On  entering 
the  door,  the  full  length  figure  of  Mr. 
Corcoran — the  grand  painting  by  Elliott, 
— first  greets  the  eye.  It  seems  to  extend 
a cordial  welcome  to  all,  and  representing  the  donor  of 
the  art  treasure  around,  is,  therefore,  par  excellence, 
entitled  No.  1.  Nos.  2 and  3,  are  “ The  Departure  and 
Return ,”  by  Thomas  Cole,  and  are  most  interesting  in 
their  poetical  inspiration.  Although  linked  by  a 
mutual  tie,  or  their  characteristics  being  similar,  they 
are  entirely  distinct  in  the  elements  of  joy  and  sadness, 
sunshine  and  gloom.  In  the  first  picture  we  are  to  go 
back  to  the  feudal  times,  and  clothe  our  imagination 
with  heroism  and  romance,  as  we  glance  at  noble  cava- 
liers, richly  clad,  mounted  on  splendid  horses,  and  their 
passions  all  aglow,  bent  on  some  military  exploit.  We 
see  these  spirited  knights  bearing  spears  and  shields, 
having  just  bade  farewell  to  a castle,  whose  stout  walls 
are  the  pledge  of  safety  and  shelter,  to  mingle  with  an 
uncertain  venture,  or  the  warfare  that  leadeth  to  vic- 
tory. Of  defeat  or  death  they  do  not  dream  ; for  all 
nature  is  smiling,  the  vernal  winds  piping  in  concert 
with  the  bugle’s  martial  music.  The  bright,  early 
morn  gives  glorious  promise — the  green -sward  be- 


46 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


gemmed  with  sparkling  dew,  meets  most  kindly  the 
tread  of  the  gay  steeds  prancing  to  be  off,  and  even  the 
scarf  that  is  worn  about  the  manly  form  of  the  leader, 
must  have  been  decked  with  a flowery  “ God  speed  ” 
from  wife  or  maiden.  We  will  not  follow  them 
through  the  weary  months,  when  the  storm  of  battle 
swept  o’er  many  a gallant  form,  and  laid  them  low 
like  the  leaves  of  the  forest;  but  let  us  direct  our 
attention  to  the  other  delineation,  u The  Return”  and 
in  pensive  thought  contrast  it  with  the  gladness  that 
is  past.  Autumn  has  saddened  the  scene,  and  the  sun 
is  going  to  her  rest,  as  if  willing  to  hide  her  face 
from  the  remnant  of  that  hopeful  band,  whose  steps 
once  buoyant  are  now  measured  in  weariness  and 
grief.  They  follow  their  leader,  borne  upon  a litter, 
wdiose  death  wound  will  soon  tell  a mournful  story 
amidst  the  requiem  of  the  sighing  winds,  and  the 
prayers  of  the  monks  of  yonder  abbey.  The  riderless 
steed  is  one  of  the  saddest  looking  mourners.  The 
artist  in  choosing  subjects  that  appeal  so  strongly  to 
the  sympathies  has  given  evidence  of  his  elevated  taste, 
and  any  poetical  license  that  he  may  have  used,  is 
agreeably  accepted.  His  death  occurred  in  1848,  and 
our  country  has  deeply  felt  the  loss  of  a genius  that 
had  reached  the  proudest  pinnacle  of  fame. v No.  4. 
Hunters  and  Game , by  Stanley.  Successful  Nimrods 
have  they  been,  as  the  floor  of  their  dwelling  is  literally 
covered  over ; the  noblest  thing  secured  being  a large 
stag,  which  must  have  died  hard  in  the  chase,  and  is 
now  a disputed  prize.  No.  5.  A small  Landscape , by 
Thomas  Doughty,  in  which  is  a streamlet  of  water  in 
the  foreground,  with  ducks  swimming  on  the  surface, 
also  a river  in  the  distance,  with  sailing  vessels.  It 
flnds  its  best  description  in  the  one  little  word  gem . 
The  works  of  this  artist  have  always  been  celebrated 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


47 


for  their  true  feeling  for  nature.  The  Boston  Athen- 
aeum has  one  of  his  landscapes,  and  several  are  to  be 
seen  at  the  Philadelphia  Academy  of  Pine  Arts.  Nos. 
6 and  7,  are  Portraits  of  General  Warren  and  Mrs . 
Warren , by  J.  Singleton  Copley  and  C,  W.  Peale. 
The  first  claims  our  warm  interest,  as  the  memory  of 
the  man  is  identified  with  the  days  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, and  his  heroic  death  at  Bunker’s  Hill.  Mrs. 
Warren  is  a dignified  lady,  dressed  in  the  attractive 
costume  of  “ ye  olden  time.”  No.  8.  A Battle  Scene , 
on  copper,  by  Breughel.  In  the  distance  lies  a peace- 
ful country,  but  the  foreground  is  filled  with  a hetero- 
geneous mass  of  beings  and  cavalry  amid  great  confu- 
sion and  strife,  and  yet  all  the  miniature  details  are 
wonderfully  distinct.  No.  9.  A Winter  Scene , by  Regis 
Gignoux,  1850,  is  a true  delineation  of  the  severity  of 
the  ice-king  and  the  cold,  cold  snow,  at  the  same  time 
shows  how  rigor  can  be  tempered  by  the  rollicking 
spirit  of  youth.  Skimming  over  the  frozen  water  are 
several  skaters  enjoying  the  jovial  exercise,  but  one 
boy  has  unluckily  lost  his  equilibrium.  The  driver  of 
a rude  little  sledge  has  trusted  to  the  thickness  of  the 
ice,  and  stopped  to  look  on  at  the  sport.  He  seems 
very  comfortable  in  his  warm  wrappings,  as  also  his 
horse  in  a close  fitting  blue  blanket.  The  wheel  of  the 
old  mill  has  stopped  its  revolutions,  and  from  its  ice- 
bound sides  are  pendant  icicles.  The  trees  look  bare 
and  skeleton-like,  with  only  a fine  powdering  of  snow. 
No.  10.  A Lake  Scene , by  the  same  artist,  portrays  a 
pleasant  and  inviting  spot,  the  trees  overshadowing 
the  water,  and  affording  agreeable  shelter  for  the 
groups  that  sit  beneath  them  — be  they  sentimental 
lovers,  or  happy  children  resting  from  their  play.  No. 
11.  Mount  Washington , by  J.  F.  Kensett,  1851,  is  pain- 
ted with  that  rare  finish  for  which  this  artist  was  emi- 


48 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


nently  distinguished.  Numberless  trees  on  the  plain 
are  comprised  within  the  small  limits  of  the  picture, 
and  in  the  remote  back  ground  rise  the  towering  peaks, 
white  with  the  u virgin  snow,  ” untrodden  in  that 
lonely  and  lofty  isolation.  This  is  the  original  sketch 
for  the  large  picture  engraved  at  the  expense  of  the 
American  Art  Union,  some  years  since.  No.  12.  The 
Adoration  of  the  Shepherds , by  Raphael  Mengs,  w^as 
brought  to  the  United  States  by  Joseph  Bonaparte. 
It  is  one  of  the  largest  pictures  in  the  gallery,  and  is 
considered  a chef  d ’oeuvre.  The  infant  Christ  wrapped 
in  swaddling  clothes,  is  supported  on  his  humble  bed 
of  straw  by  the  Virgin,  whose  uplifted  eyes  are  filled 
with  an  expression  of  blest  content.  Her  drapery  of 
blue  forms  the  most  important  coloring  in  the  paint- 
ing. A beautiful  silvery  light  envelops  these  two 
figures,  and  the  dawn  is  breaking  in  the  East  with  a 
new  glory  that  shall  wake  the  world  to  the  conscious- 
ness that  the  u Prince  of  Peace  ” is  born.  The  shep- 
herds are  gathered  near,  wearing  a blended  look  of 
rhapsody  and  awe,  and  several  strive  to  manifest  their 
joy  through  that  expressive  medium — the  hands  raised 
aloft,  or  half  clasped.  One  adorer  has  dropped  his 
crook,  and  fallen  upon  his  knees  at  the  feet  of  the 
Virgin,  with  head  bent  low,  whilst  the  angels  in  an 
ecstasy  scarcely  less  demonstrative  are  hovering  within 
the  humble  abode — beautiful  messengers  sent  from  God 
with  blessings  for  the  “ new-born  king.”  The  artist 
was  born  in  Bohemia,  and  died  at  Rome  in  1779.  His 
works  won  for  him  warm  admirers  in  various  cities  of 
the  old  world.  At  the  early  age  of  seventeen,  he  w^as 
appointed  court  painter,  by  the  King  of  Poland.  Some 
of  his  best  pieces  are  preserved  in  Spain,  Italy  and 
England.  He  was  also  a writer  upon  art  subjects,  and 
described  notable  pictures  with  great  ability.  Nos. 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


49 


13  and  14.  A View  of  Venice , and  a Seaport , by  Cana- 
letti.  In  the  first,  our  thoughts  are  pleasantly  drawn 
to  that  interesting  city — “the  Bride  of  the  Sea,”  with 
its  eighty  inlets,  numberless  canals,  beautiful  palaces, 
its  fairy-like  gondolas  “gliding  over  streets  as  in  a 
dream,”  to  say  nothing  of  its  gorgeously  tinted  skies, 
and  the  many  memories,  historical  and  poetical,  to  add 
to  the  potent  charm.  The  second  view  gives  to  our 
American  eye,  all  the  attributes  of  some  foreign  shore — 
the  high  cliffs  and  castellated  buildings,  the  curiously 
ornamented  vessels,  and  many  oared  barges.  No.  15. 
Flowers , by  Gustave  Couder — one  of  the  valuable  selec- 
tions made  by  Mr.  Walters,  of  Baltimore.  There  is  a 
magnificently  carved  table  of  large  dimensions,  which, 
from  its  elaborate  design  and  workmanship,  we  suppose 
to  be  the  property  of  some  palatial  residence  abroad. 
Heavy  green  drapery,  with  corded  fringe,  falls  grace- 
fully upon  the  left  side,  partially  covering  the  table, 
upon  which  rests  a fallen  vase  of  exquisite  roses.  Their 
bloom  is  not  scattered,  except  by  a single  leaf  or  bud, 
which  could  not  withstand  the  sudden  rude  shock  of  the 
fall,  brought  about  by  nothing  less  than  a big  cat.  Hav- 
ing mounted  in  precipitate  haste  in  search  of  sweets,  or 
what  was  not  her  business,  she  has  unawares  turned 
over  the  vase.  “ What  have  I done?  ” says  the  cat,  in 
an  attitude  of  amazement  and  fear — the  elevated  high 
back  assuming  a slinking  air,  the  letting  down  of  the 
tail,  and  the  gradual  descent  of  the  paw  (one  of  which 
must  have  done  the  inglorious  work),  the  drawing  back 
of  the  ears,  a dilation  of  the  eyes,  and  the  wide  open 
mouth  showing  four  long  teeth,  as  a guard  to  a cavern- 
ous entrance — so  dark  seems  the  way.  Puss  cannot 
swallow  the  flowers,  which  she  would  like  to  do  no 
doubt,  to  wipe  out  the  traces  of  the  accident ; and  we, 
who  are  lookers  on  at  her  half  sad,  half  roguish  plight, 

4 


50 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


must  imagine  a second  scene,  where  some  fair  owner  or 
stern  host  of  the  mansion,  walks  in  to  discover  the 
damage  done.  In  the  roses,  lies  the  great  merit  of  the 
picture,  and  such  perfect  roses  as  would  almost  shame 
natural  ones.  Nearest  the  mouth  of  the  vase  is  a deli- 
cate tea-rose  in  very  full  bloom,  wearing  the  appear- 
ance of  falling  apart,  and  diffusing  its  last  breath  of 
sweetness.  Half  way  over  its  frail  leaves,  bends  a 
superb  queenly  rival  in  a wealth  of  bloom,  white  and 
faint  pink,  tending  to  a deeper  tint  as  it  reaches  the 
heart  of  the  flower  ; and  just  above  on  a noble  curving 
stem  is  the  hud  unfolding  the  rarest  beauty.  In  ab- 
ject fallen  state  is  a twin-sister,  pleading  seemingly  to 
be  lifted  up  because  of  its  loveliness.  The  colors  are 
mingled  with  a gracious  charm,  the  cloth  of  gold  with 
the  bright  pink,  the  salmon  with  the  crimson,  whilst 
miniature  buds  and  green  leaves  constitute  not  a little 
of  the  charming  feast.  Couder’s  talent  in  this  line 
cannot  be  excelled,  and  it  is  not  too  much  to  style  him 
a god  among  the  roses,  to  whom  they  might  pay  their 
sweetest- tribute.  This  artist  belongs  to  France,  and  if 
he  gives  so  much  satisfaction  in  the  delineation  of  flow- 
ers of  that  bright  land,  we  would  also  like  him  to  send 
us  some  bunches  of  grapes;  if  not  fresh  from. the  vine, 
from  his  own  skilful  hand.  No.  16.  A Swiss  Scene , by 
Seefisch,  1850,  pretty  and  bright  Avith  its  picturesque 
cottage,  blue  water  and  sunlight.  No.  17.  A Wood 
Scene  in  France , by  Mr.  Bouquet,  having  all  the  beauty 
of  those  leafy  green  bowers,  where  the  spirit  of  valor 
and  gallantry  is  sometimes  met.  Lo  1 here  advances  a 
mounted  cavalier  ! The  bugle  is  sounded,  and  what  is 
to  be  done  worthy  of  chivalric  France  ? No.  18.  The 
Sea  Coast , by  Charles  Lanman,  a Washington  artist 
and  author.  This  is  a small  but  meritorious  picture. 
The  fragments  of  a wreck  blown  ashore,  tell  of  the 


51 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 

treachery  of  the  sea  ; and  what  is  more  sad  to  the  hu- 
man eye  than  such  a spectacle,  waking  up  memories  of 
danger  and  disasters?  No.  19.  /Spring,  by  Japy,  1873, 
selected  by  Mr.  W.  T.  Walters.  Greetings  to  the 
artist  for  his  faithful  delineation  1 The  bright  garniture 
of  green  that  pervades  the  landscape  “ tells  like  a 
tongue,”  the  joy  of  the  earth,  when  waking  from  her 
frozen  spell,  she  arrays  herself  with  beauty.  The  sky 
is  clear  with  patches  of  blue  and  creamy  fleck,  smiling 
in  concert  with  the  brightness  below.  Such  radiant 
scenes  make  music  in  the  heart,  recalling  the  glad 
days  of  youth,  when  the  stream  proved  a mirror  for 
the  rosy  cheek  and  laughing  eye,  when  nimble  feet  em- 
bedded the  bright  green  moss,  or  careless  Angers  pulled 
at  the  'wayside  flowers.  Youth  makes  a glad  part  of 
this  picture,  as  near  the  brook  stands  a little  child  gaz- 
ing into  its  mother’s  face,  whilst  its  wee  hand  grasps  a 
fugitive  Avild  blossom.  The  adult  figure  is  seated,  giv- 
ing the  inference  of  content  and  ease.  If  these  are  the 
principal  individual  features,  we  may  not  overlook  the 
animal  life  in  a group  of  cows  that  are  evidently  re- 
veling in  high  clover,  and  sniffing  in  the  aroma  of 
spring,  not  less  gratefully  than  their  keeper  or  the 
dairy  maid.  The  shadows  on  the  stream  from  the 
overhanging  trees,  and  the  shooting  spires  of  grass 
that  dot  here  and  there  the  water,  are  wonderfully  true 
to  nature.  The  heavy  laden  boughs  of  apple  blossoms 
give  rich  promise,  and  even  the  hard  old  rocks  and 
stones,  and  some  grim  battlements  at  the  extreme  right, 
seem  to  lose  half  of  their  sternness  in  the  delicate  sur- 
roundings that  come  and  go  at  the  will  of  the  Author 
of  the  Seasons,  His  vernal  gift  to  earth  being  full  of 
loving  kindness,  and  far  more  beautiful  and  entranc- 
ing than  the  fairest  bride  decked  out  in  marriage  gar- 
ments. No.  20.  A Western  Landscape , by  Brewerton, 


52 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


presents  to  view  mostly  a wild  uncultivated  ridge  of 
land,  with  a little  streamlet  meandering  near  the  fore- 
ground. The  Rocky  Mountains  stretch  away  in  the 
distance.  A long  line  of  wagons  is  advancing  slowly, 
showing  how  the  tide  of  emigration  is  westward 
bound.  No.  21.  Shepherd  and  Sheep , by  Robbe,  who 
shows  his  thorough  acquaintance  in  the  art  of  sketch- 
ing animals.  No.  22.  Italian  Ox  Cart , by  A Roviard. 
This  picture  was  painted  at  Rome,  in  1860.  It  repre- 
sents a huge  lumbering  wagon  or  cart,  drawn  by  oxen, 
the  driver  being  seated  on  high  in  a fine  position  to 
survey  the  beauties  of  nature.  The  road  over  which 
they  are  slowly  making  their  way  is  in  the  mountains, 
and  the  surrounding  elevated  peaks  are  touched  with 
a hue  as  deep  as  indigo.  The  poor  lone  occupant  is  in 
the  act  of  lighting  his  pipe  for  company.  He  wears  a 
Tyrolean  hat,  and  his  strong  limbs  are  slashed  up  to 
the  knees  with  black  bands,  after  the  fashion  of  his 
country.  Raised  to  such  an  altitude,  his  thoughts,  we 
imagine,  must  be  stamped  with  loftiness,  or  he  feels  the 
truth  of  the  words,  “ Who  so  brave  as  the  moun- 
taineer?” The  huge  beasts  have  been  doing  honest 
service,  yet  with  all  their  labor  and  the  oft  told  look 
of  sadness  or  weariness  in  their  eyes,  they  are  evi- 
dently enjoying  more  freedom  than  the  two  white 
chickens  in  the  cart  which  are  tied  together,  and  are 
ignominiously  suspended,  heads  downward.  No.  23. 
A View  on  the  Amazon,  by  Church,  1854.  How  truly 
welcomed  is  this  name  among  the  noblest  artists 
whose  works  grace  the  gallery  ! And  this  production 
bears  the  most  critical  examination,  so  delicate  and 
fine  is  every  stroke  of  the  brush.  The  placid  water 
reflects  the  shrubbery  and  houses,  also  the  canoe  lying 
in  close  proximity  to  the  tropical  verdure,  and  the  tall 
graceful  palms.  The  distant  mountain  peaks,  and  the 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


53 


gradual  sloping  of  the  range  towards  the  shore,  are 
drawn  with  marvellous  accuracy,  whilst  the  dim  purple 
tone  has  all  the  truth  of  nature.  The  merit  of  the 
painting  brought  an  equivalent  price — among  the  most 
costly  in  the  gallery.  It  is  also  especially  admired  and 
appreciated  by  Mr.  Corcoran.  Ho.  24.  General  Wash- 
ington s Headquarters  on  the  Hudson , by  Cropsey.  This 
little  picture  enlists  our  patriotic  valuation  of  that  great 
struggle  in  American  history,  when  the  noble  spirit  of 
Washington  was  striving  for  our  rights.  The  little  lone 
house  in  the  valley,  so  very  humble  beside  the  towering 
hills,  rises  to  the  importance  of  some  magnificent  castle 
or  palace,  because  associated  with  him  who  held  judi- 
cious counsels  there,  the  impulses  of  his  truly  heroic 
heart  vieing  with  the  grandeur  of  nature.  Ho.  25.  A 
Lake  near  Lennox , Mass.,  by  Oddie.  A beautiful  tranquil 
scene  that  would  make  the  roughest  and  most  uncouth 
nature  learn  something  gentle  from  association  there- 
with ; the  clear,  still  water,  the  green  hills,  the  flat  with 
browsing  cattle,  the  sky  with  floating,  fleecy  cloudlet 
and  the  sweet  quiet  that  reigns.  Ho.  26.  A Landscape , 
by  Robbe.  A line  of  trees  takes  up  considerable  space  ; 
several  little  children  are  waiting  on  the  movements  of 
some  cows  which,  ere  they  are  driven  home,  choose  to 
sprinkle  their  hoofs  with  the  water  of  the  pool.  Ho. 
27.  Sea-piece , by  Joseph  Vernet.  This  is  certainly  a 
gem,  and  will  be  duly  appreciated  by  those  who  have 
witnessed  from  the  shore  the  sublimity  of  a gathering 
storm.  A promontory  where  rests  a castle,  is  beaten  by 
the  lashing  surf,  that  throws  high  its  spray  and  s As  the 
fishermen  to  the  work  of  collecting  their  nets.  The 
sailing  vessels  thus  far,  are  riding  triumphantly  on  the 
waves,  but  the  storm  cloud  is  threatening,  the  sea  gulls 
are  on  the  wing,  the  wind  is  tossing  and  twisting  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  and  who  can  tell  where  the  worst 


54 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


fury  of  the  gale  shall  be  spent?  No.  28.  The  Death 
of  Caesar , by  Gerome.  Selected  by  Mr.  W.  T.  Wal- 
ters, and  to  whom  a large  vote  of  thanks  is  due  for 
having  chosen  a subject  so  grandly  historical.  At  the 
base  of  Pompey’s  statue  lies  the  body  of  the  murdered 
Csesar.  The  senate  chamber  on  the  fatal  ides  of  March 
is  deserted,  the  conspirators  having  first  fled  from  the 
cruel  work  of  X heir  jealousy  and  passions.  The  silent 
halls,  the  cold  stones,  the  motionless  statues,  even  seem 
invested  with  the  air  of  the  dreadful  deed  committed, 
as  all  around  is  a solemnity  that  would  still  the  pulses 
and  paralyze  the  senses.  Through  the  mind  rushes  a 
host  of  emotions  at  the  sight  of  the  bleeding  corpse,  the 
great  man  valiant  in  battle,  kingly  in  intellect,  vigorous 
in  body:  the  invincible  Roman  cut  down  in  a moment 
in  the  zenith  of  his  glory,  the  keenest  blow  being  that 
such  sovereignty  was  ended  by  treachery  under  the  guise 
of  friendship.  What  is  victory,  fame  or  power  now  ? 
What  are  temples,  altars,  and  fickle  honors  worth,  in 
that  everything  once  bright  with  loyalty  and  homage 
is  tarnished  with  falsity  the  most  impious?  All  the 
grandeur  and  pride  of  the  assembled  senate,  and  all  the 
bravery  that  is  conceded  to  the  Roman  character,  sud- 
denly pales  and  deteriorates  in  the  thought  of  Caesar’s 
assassins  being  men  of  dignity,  high  office  and  estate. 
Gerome  is  the  great  artist  of  this  grand  and  difficult 
subject,  and  his  successful  handling  of  the  same  would 
entitle  him  always  to  select  heroes  and  princes.  He 
has  drawn  the  figure  painfully  true  to  the  death  strug- 
gle, as  the  body  wears  the  hue  of  violence,  and  appears 
as  if  the  giving  up  of  life  were  not  an  easy  thing,  even 
under  the  torture  of  three  and  twenty  wounds.  The 
toga  enwraps  the  body,  and  it  seems,  indeed,  worn  as  a 
mantle  of  dignity,  the  whiteness  of  which  is  stained 
only  by  the  “ ruddy  drops”  that  Shakspeare  describes 


W.  W.  COX  COX  AN. 


55 


most  touchingly  in  the  tender  words  of  Brutus  to  his 
loving  wife  Portia.  At  a little  distance  from  the  body 
is  the  scroll  or  schedule  of  the  preconceived  assassina- 
tion, given  into  the  hands  of  Caesar  ere  he  entered  the 
capitol  by  Artemidorus,  who  would  have  saved  him 
from  his  wretched  fate.  But  no  time  being  vouchsafed 
to  Caesar,  it  remained  unread,  and  lay  upon  the  tessel- 
ated  pavement,  an  accusation  of  disgrace  upon  his 
countrymen.  The  chair  of  state  is  represented  thrown 
down  in  the  fray,  hurled  low  upon  the  steps  near  the 
feet  of  its  dead  occupant.  The  lonely,  awe-inspiring 
presence  of  murder  is  well  calculated  to  call  up  all  the 
vivid  and  powerful  description  of  that  senate  scene  by 
the  immortal  bard,  but  these  words  lie  with  greatest 
weight  upon  the  memory:  u Stoop,  Romans,  stoop, 
and  let  us  bathe  our  hands  in  Caesar’s  blood  up  to  the 
elbows,  and  besmear  our  swords.  Then  walk  we  forth, 
even  to  the  market  place  ; and  waving  our  red  weapons 
o’er  our  heads,  let’s  all  cry,  peace,  freedom,  and  liberty  !” 
No.  29.  The  Amazon  and  her  Children , by  Leutze,  1854, 
commands  particular  attention,  partly  from  associa- 
ting our  thoughts  with  those  ancient  times  when,  if 
we  are  to  believe  in  tradition,  the  prowess  of  female 
warriors  was  widely  felt  and  commemorated,  and 
because  of  the  celebrity  of  the  artist.  The  classic  sub- 
ject is  faithfully  treated — the  Amazon  with  less  of 
feminine  charm  than  we  would  ask,  reclining  upon  the 
ground,  every  feature  being  stamped  with  the  un 
daunted  spirit  of  the  race,  whilst  her  love  of  martial 
exercises  (it  is  plainly  evident)  she  would  instil  into  her 
offspring  yet  of  tender  years.  They  crouch  affrighted, 
unwilling  to  accept  the  teachings  so  threatening  and 
daring ; but  to  beat  a retreat  from  that  ferocious  look 
and  heroic  mien,  will  be  less  easy  than  to  handle  the 
bow  and  arrow,  or  to  wield  the  battle  axe.  No.  30.  A 


56 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


Winter  Scene , by  Emile  Breton,  1872.  Selected  by  W.  T. 
Walters.  u A thatched  Cottage,”  cold  and  dreary  as  it 
looks,  with  its  covering  of  snowq  can  still  suggest  a 
thought  of  u Home,”  and  although  in  thehumblest  mean- 
ing of  the  word,  doubtless  to  those  wrho  enjoy  its  shelter 
“ there  is  no  place  like  it.”  So  says  the  man  standing  a 
few  paces  off,  who  will  shortly  leave  the  cheerless  scene 
outside,  and  the  occupants  of  the  w^agon  wEo  are  near- 
ing home  at  the  close  of  day.  The  moon  has  risen 
above  the  outskirts  of  the  horizon  like  a fiery  globe, 
as  if  in  disdain  of  the  pure  mantle  overspreading  the 
ground,  the  locked  up  stream,  and  the  bare  trees.  The 
gray  sky  looks  as  cold  as  the  scene,  but  for  the  warrn- 
glowing  orb  that  must  gradually  mount  high  up  in  the 
vault  of  heaven,  and  assume  its  wonted  lustre.  The 
artist  has  thoroughly  understood  effect  in  employing 
the  two  extremes,  the  purity  of  snow  and  the  “ jewel 
of  night,”  clear-cut  in  ruby-tinted  beauty.  No.  31. 
A View  in  Holland.  5Tis  a moon-lit  night  in  an  old 
Dutch  town  ; the  boats  are  coming  up  to  the  quay  ; 
the  lamps  are  lighted,  throwing  out  a cheerful  glow 
from  the  many  windows  with  which  the  houses  of 
Holland  abound.  Ho.  32.  Shakspeare  and  his  Friends , 
by  Eaed,  1851.  This  is  truly  a royal  picture  in  size 
and  merit.  There  sits  the  mighty  bard  with  took  in 
hand,  at  a table  overspread  writh  immaculate  whiteness, 
and  dignified  with  several  large  volumes,  an  inkstand 
and  hour-glass — fitting  accompaniments  for  those  great 
minds  assembled,  viz. : Silvester,  Camden,  Seldon,  Earl 
of  Dorset,  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  Bacon,  Ben  Jonson, 
Daniel  Donne,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  Earl  of  Southamp- 
ton, Sir  Robert  Cotton,  and  Dekker.  Most  of  these 
men  are  grouped  around  the  table  as  if  in  the  discus- 
sion of  a grave  matter,  requiring  deep  study  and  thought. 
The  dress  of  these  courtiers  is  recognized  as  belonging 


W.  IV.  CORCORAN. 


51 

to  the  Elizabethan  age — the  high-fluted  ruffs  at  the 
throat,  the  stoek-i-net,  gay  velvet  coats,  &c.  The 
saloon  is  very  rich  in  all  of  its.  appointments,  such  as 
carvings  and  drapery.  On  a stand  at  a little  distance 
ofl*  are  a silver  pitcher,  a wine  bottle  and  glasses,  by 
the  side  of  which  have  been  laid  a sword,  a mantle 
of  ultramarine  blue,  and  a hat  with  a white  feather. 
The  artist  has  been  very  successful  in  the  likenesses. 
Intellect  is  stamped  upon  every  face  ; but  chief  of  all 
is  the  great  Shakspeare,  whose  high,  full  forehead  is 
wonderfully  indicative  of  the  brains  that  have  con- 
ceived and  built  up  a world  of  knowledge.  Upwards 
of  14,000  engraving’s  have  been  made  of  this  original 
picture,  and  sold  in  England  and  the  United  States, 
for  which  Mr.  Corcoran  most  generously  gave  the  copy- 
right. Ho.  33.  Castle  Gondolfo , Lake  Albano , Italy , by 
Cranch.  A fine  large  picture,  showing  a harmonious 
union  of  color,  and  a high  order  of  talent.  Hos.  34 
and  35.  Happy  and  Unhappy  Families , by  Fde.  Brack- 
aleere,  1852.  This  artist  has  admirably  dealt  with  the 
sunshine  and  shadow  of  life.  In  the  former  we  are 
imbued  with  the  idea  that  a Dutch  home  can  be  made 
very  jolly.  In  the  poorer  ranks  the  spirit  of  content 
to  our  eye  is  always  very  striking.  The  children  are 
having  a high  festival  over  a wooden  doll-baby,  stiff 
and  ungainly  in  itself,  but  with  two  long  strings  tied 
under  its  arms,  and  managed  by  the  dexterous  hand 
of  a little  child,  we  must  imagine  it  a graceful  figure 
under  the  inspiration  of  grandpapa’s  fiddle.  His  frow 
stands  by  his  side  and  claps  her  approbation,  feeble  old 
woman  that  she  looks ! A middle-aged  visitor  also 
seems  well  pleased,  and  holds  his  pipe  in  his  hand,  wait- 
ing to  indulge  after  the  frolic  is  ended.  The  mother 
of  the  little  children  is  about  to  step  forward  with 
some  “good  cheer,”  to  refresh  the  “inner  man.”  Hat- 


58 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


urally  enough  we  might  ask,  “Where  is  the  sour- 
krout?”  The  Unhappy  Family  takes  away  our  smiles 
and  cheerful  feeling.  A lantern’s  light,  hung  from  the 
rafters  of  a poor  dwelling,  is  the  only  ray  that  beams 
athwart  the  gloom  of  ill-fortune.  There  is  an  air  of 
despondency  in  the  wearied  wife  who  sits  beside  her 
baby  in  its  cradle ; the  little  one,  all  unconscious  of 
trouble,  sleeps  soundly,  as  also  the  tired,  bare-footed 
boy  resting  against  his  mother’s  knee.  But  the  person 
upon  whose  lineaments  broods  the  sorrow  of  poverty 
or  distress,  is  the  father  who,  entering  the  room,  has  to 
meet  the  tender  caresses  of  his  other  children.  His 
burden  seems  heavier  than  ever,  his  parent  heart  sym- 
pathizing in  the  woes  of  all  his  family.  Ho.  36.  A 
Swiss  Landscape  with  Mill , by  C.  Tribel,  1849.  The 
eye  is  never  wearied  with  scenes  from  nature,  should 
we  meet  them  at  every  other  step.  Ho,  37.  A Vase  of 
Flowers , by  Jeannin,  1873.  One  of  the  most  charming 
selections  of  W.  T.  Walters.  The  artist  has  combined 
art  and  nature  with  the  most  pleasing  skill.  Almost 
the  entire  surface  of  the  picture  displays  a faultless 
shade  of  cerulean  blue,  figured  in  a pearly  white,  to 
represent  a rich  brocade  satin  drapery,  that  conceals, 
magically  as  it  were,  from  view,  a little  stand  or  table. 
A rich,  white  silk  scarf  or  drapery  also  falls  gracefully, 
and  in  folds  so  careless  that  none  but  a true  artist 
could  depict  them.  This  scarf  would  be  fit  apparel 
for  a queen  ; it  has  for  a border  a fine  net  of  lace  work, 
with  a design  of  leaves  and  flowers,  all  snowy  white; 
and  the  heavy  white  fringe,  a quarter  of  a yard  in 
length,  has  so  much  of  the  soft,  flossy  appearance  of 
silk,  that  it  seems  impossible  for  it  to  be  a counterfeit. 
These  regal  draperies,  in  conjunction  with  a superb 
gilded  bronze  vase,  with  the  design  of  two  cupids  in  the 
act  of  an  embrace,  form  what  one  would  style  art , whilst 


W.  W.  COR  COR  A jy. 


59 


the  contents  of  the  vase,  numbering  a hundred  or  more 
delicate  blossoms,  all  of  one  kind,  yet  varying  in  the 
hues  of  lilac,  pink,  groseille,  and  white,  comprise  the 
natural  portion  of  the  picture.  The  vase  has  more  than 
brimful  measure,  as  the  flowers  running  over  hide  the 
heads  of  the  saucy  little  “ gods  of  love,” — a charming 
place  to  nestle,  say  they,  where  the  wild  blossoms  revel 
in  beauty.  Some  single,  colored  sprays  have  fallen  on 
the  white  drapery,  serving  to  make  its  purity  the 
more  observed,  and  one  green  leaf  has  found  a resting 
place  at  the  foot  of  a miniature  article  of  vertu — a 
little  gilded  figure,  set  a few  inches  distant  from  the 
vase.  The  colors  in  this  picture  are  truly  beautiful, 
and  in  a powerful  light,  anything  less  than  a young 
and  strong  eye  might  be  pained  by  their  brilliancy. 
No.  38.  The  Coquette.  Artist  unknown.  There  is  some 
witchery  in  this  picture,  and  if  the  personal  attrac- 
tions of  the  young  lady  win  us  over  to  admiration,  we 
must  still  admit  that  some  of  the  fascination  is  lost  in 
the  thought  of  the  delusive  spell  that  binds  the  lover. 
A soft,  white,  little  hand  steals  aside  to  deliver  a billet- 
doux  to  a negress  hard  by,  who  understands  for  whom 
it  is  meant.  The  ebony  face  wears  a broad  grin  at  the 
treachery  of  fair  woman,  and  we  ourselves  are  won- 
dering at  the  credulity  of  man.  No.  39.  “ The  Flagella - 
tion  of  Christ  ” by  Van  Dyck.  Turn  we  now  to  this 
solemn  and  painful  subject,  which  will  not  only  call 
forth  profound  emotion  and  sorrow  for  the  indignities 
and  sufferings  heaped  upon  the  Saviour  of  mankind, 
but  being  the  work  of  one  of  the  most  celebrated 
masters  of  the  Old  World,  will  make  us  add  to 
that  tenderest  of  all  sympathies  a silent  tribute  to 
the  hand  that  has  long  since  mingled  with  the  dust. 
No.  40.  Life  size  Figures  at  the  Well , by  Vely,  1873, 
selected  by  W.  T.  Walters.  u Le  puits  qui  parle”  is 


60 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


the  pleasant  little  title  that  greets  the  eye,  and  gives  a 
coquettish  interpretation  to  the  charming  picture.  At 
the  side  of  an  old  stone  well  whose  sides  are  rent,  and 
upon  which  a tiny  vine  creeps  upward  from  the  base, 
stands  a beautiful  peasant  girl.  She  is  leaning  against 
a high  wall,  that  allows  only  a portion  of  her  pretty 
uncovered  head  to  rise  above  its  gray  altitude.  How 
bewitching  her  costume,  with  its  variety  of  color,  her 
snowy  chemisette  blouse  giving  a softness  to  the  attire, 
and  adding  not  a little  beauty  to  the  bright  winsome 
face!  There  is  a look  of  sweet  surprise  and  innocence 
in  her  eyes  as  she  rests  her  arm  upon  the  bucket,  and 
listens  to  a mysterious  voice.be  it  the  music  of  the  rill, 
a fairy  whispering  out  the  depths  of  the  well,  or  a 
little  bird,  hidden  from  view,  singing  a delicious  love- 
song.  She  is  entirely  unconscious  of  any  one’s  presence 
or  approach,  nor  does  she  stir,  herself,  for  see  how  firmly 
her  bare  feet  press  the  ground!-  But  we,  whilst  gaz- 
ing at  her  u blissful  ignorance,”  observe  just  beyond  the 
wall  the  peering  face  of  a gay  young  cavalier,  who  has 
stolen  softly  nigh  with  tread  as  velvety  as  his  grand 
dress  coat.  He  leans  in  dangerous  proximity  to  the 
beauteous  maid.  She  is  captured  beyond  doubt  in  one 
sense,  for  his  arm  affords  a sort  of  frame  to  her  glossy 
hair  so  neatly  braided,  and  his  lips  are  also  very  near, 
making  the  music  that  has  brought  her  to  such  a pleas- 
ant thraldom.  To  our  eye  this  is  very  engaging,  and 
the  result  should  bring  about  mutual  joy,  and  yet  we 
have  a feeling  of  mistrust  and  pity.  The  favorable 
termination  is  quite  as  far  off  as  the  castle,  which,  em- 
bowered in  trees  in  the  distance,  tells  of  high  born 
hopes  and  destiny,  and  has  nought  to  do  with  the 
pretty  maid,  except  to  lend  a voice  for  the  moment  to 
whisper  sweet  things  beside  the  well.  No.  41.  Rebecca , 
by  Rossiter.  An  exceedingly  attractive  picture  of  the 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


61 


damsel  whom  the  Bible  states  was  very  ‘‘fair  to  look 
upon.”  The  artist  has  done  justice  to  the  subject,  as 
the  maiden  possesses  great  beauty.  Her  complexion 
and  large  lustrous  eyes  have  the  true  oriental  charm ; 
her  garments  that  easy  flowing  grace  peculiar  to  the 
women  of  old.  The  gladness  of  her  heart  is  revealed 
through  those  wondrous  eyes  that  have  seen  “ the 
golden  ear  ring  ” and  the  “ bracelets  of  ten  shekels 
weight;”  and  her  amiability  is  exemplified  in  the  words, 
“Drink,  and  1 will  give  thy  camels  drink  also.”  Ho. 
42.  A Small  Bouquet , by  Couder,  1872,  selected  by 
Mr.  W.  T.  Walters.  The  flowers  are  carelessly  put 
together  in  an  ordinary  glass  tumbler,  half  tilled  with 
water,  and  set  upon  a medium  sized  volume,  bound  i^i 
calf  skin.  The  book  looks  as  if  it  had  been  hastily  laid 
down,-  and  the  bunch  of  flowers,  so  perfect  in  their 
naturalness  (consisting  of  fine  delicate  white  bloom  ; 
the  wall  flower  and  a crimson  blossom),  suggests  the 
idea  that  some  fair  lady  has  just  gathered  them  from 
the  garden,  and  left  them  in  the  select  and  eloquent 
company  of  literature.  What  author  would  not  feel 
happy  in  being  thus  associated  with  beauty  and  per- 
fume ? Ho.  43.  Child  Beading  (a  copy),  by  J.  G.  Meyer. 
A happy  specimen  of  youthful  intelligence.  What  a 
charming  little  store  of  information  is  being  gathered 
in,  eloquently  told  in  a pair  of  eyes  brimful  of  merri- 
ment ! Pray  tell  us  the  secret  of  this  “ battery  of  bliss,” 
whose  light  shot  oft*  is  drawing  us  into  sympathy,  the 
most  contagious?  Ho.  44.  Milton  at  Home , by  Leutze. 
Oliver  Cromwell  and  his  family  are  paying  a friendly 
visit  to  the  poet,  and  listening  to  his  performance  on 
the  organ.  Seventeen  figures  are  embraced  in  the  group, 
and  upon  every  countenance  is  deeply  impressed  a sense 
of  the  power  of  music  when  pathetically  rendered.  The 
look  is  earnest  and  enwrapt,  as  if  there  were  no  other 


62 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


moment  than  the  present,  or  that  all  else  but  the  sweet 
strains  were  banished  from  the  thoughts.  At  the  in- 
strument, seated  low,  is  the  inspired  poet  and  musi- 
cian, with  his  face  averted  from  the  keys,  as  if  drink- 
ing in  with  the  spiritual  waves  of  melody  the  same 
entrancement  that  his  guests  enjoy.  Behind  him, 
forming  the  two  central  figures  of  the  group,  are 
seated  Cromwell  and  his  wile,  whilst  the  grandchil- 
dren near  by  with  pensive  air,  are  no  less  engrossed 
than  the  great  Protector  of  England.  The  youngest 
girl  has  cast  away  her  basket  of  flowers,  and  lying 
against  the  knee  of  an  elder  sister,  throws  her  arms 
upwards  as  it  in  intense  delight.  Cromwell  has 
planted  his  cane  upon  the  floor,  and  clasping  it  with 
both  hands,  sits  rigidly  back  in  his  chair,  ready  to  ex- 
claim, uITow  sublime  1”  and  his  goodly  wife  folds  her 
hands  upon  her  lap,  a true  model  of  motherly  dignity. 
The  attitudes  of  the  other  figures  are  equally  good, 
some  leaning  against  the  wainscoted  walls,  and  others 
sitting  with  eyes  glancing  upwards,  as  if  in  sympathy 
with  the  heaven-ascending  sound,  or  lowered,  as 
though  in  prayerful  gratitude.  The  fair  haired  damsel 
by  the  side  of  Cromwell  has  gathered  together  her 
hands,  and  elevated  one  shoulder  so  as  to  leavers  no 
doubt  that  the  thrill  had  passed  even  into  her  finger 
tips.  Another  female  figure  seated  beside  the  organ 
supports  between  her  knees  a little  boy,  who  has 
stretched  out  his  arms,  appearing  more  like  some 
grave  statesman  than  a buoyant  youth.  On  a high 
shelf  are  several  books,  a bust  of  Cato,  a globe  and 
a clay  pipe.  An  old  fashioned  tall  clock  would  carry 
us  back  to  the  time  of  our  great,  great  grandfathers. 
Let  us  leave  the  music  by  which  Milton  makes  all 
happy,  and  sing  our  own  key-note  of  praise  to  Leutze. 
No.  45.  Fanny  Ellsler  as  Sylphide , by  Begas,  Presi- 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


63 


dent  of  the  Berlin  Acaden^.  There  is  a great  deal  of 
poetical  license  in  this  painting,  in  that  the  figure  is 
poised  above  a wealth  of  flowers,  with  Cupid  presiding. 
To  employ  the  most  enthusiastic  utterance  as  agreeing 
with  her  extraordinary  skill  as  a danseuse,  we  might 
quote — 

“When  she  stood  up  for  dancing,  her  steps  were  so  complete, 

The  music  nearly  killed  itself  to  listen  to  her  feet.” 

The  artist  has  robed  her  in  gossamer,  and  shaped  her 
with  unexceptionable  grace.  Her  light  footfall  is  among 
the  sweetest  roses  and  lilies,  and  the  young  god  of 
love  with  all  his  cunning  art  has  won  the  smile  that 
thousands  pleaded  for  in  the  days  that  have  fled.  No. 
46.  Scene  in  the  Cats  kill, . by  Paul  Weber,  1858.  A 
beautiful  little  picture,  combining  mountain  and  valley. 
A soft  haze  overspreads  the  peaks,  but  the  light  that 
falls  upon  the  trees  near  the  lowland  brings  out  their 
vivid  green,  affording  a decided  contrast  with  the  gray 
and  brown  of  the  rocks  and  stones.  The  moss  on  the 
rock  wears  a half  red,  half  chromo  tint.  A tiny  strug- 
gling streamlet  is  visible,  such  as  is  often  seen  in  nature 
where  embedded  heaps  of  stone  break  up  at  varied  dis- 
tances the  regular  water  course.  No.  47.  A Waterfall, 
by  Robbe,  alter  Achenback.  As  truly  meritorious  as 
are  all  ot  his  productions.  No.  48.  Ihe  Lost  Logs,  by 
Yon  Thoren,  1873.  Selected  by  Mr.  W.  T.  Walters. 
This  picture  is  so  truthful  that  we  might  imagine  our- 
selves glancing  at  the  actual  scene,  lonely  and  bleak, 
the  ground  covered  with  snow.  Nought  is  seen  nor 
heard  save  these  dogs  and  their  piteous  howls  of  dis- 
tress. Description  hath  always  failed  to  give  an  ade- 
quate idea  of  the  dismal  and  sorrowful  situation  of  the 
u lost,”  whether  of  human  kind  or  the  brute.  Probably 
in  the  pathetic  tale  of  the  “ Babes  in  the  Wood,”  our 


64 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


eyes  have  moistened,  and  we  have  felt  some  of  the  woe 
that  wrung  their  little  hearts  and  brought  them  to  an 
untimely  end.  But  how  vastly  different  is  the  real  sor- 
row itself,  borne  amid  darkness  and  solitude,  the  aban- 
donment of  hope  and  the  murmurings  of  despair!  In 
this  representation  the  distress  of  that  unfortunate  state 
is  dolorously  marked.  One  of  the  dogs  lifts  his  head 
towards  the  sky  as  though  invoking  the  pity  of  Him 
who  noteth  even  the  fall  of  the  sparrow,  and  the  other 
leans  wearied,  sore  and  feeble  against  his  companion, 
with  no  more  wild  cry  across  the  snow.  Ho.  49.  Norma , 
by  Louis  Lang.  It  is  before  such  subjects  as  this  that 
the  heart  is  stirred  to  compassion.  In  this  woman’s 
breast  the  emotions  of  anger  and  revenge  are  contend- 
ing, as  o’er  her  troubled  mind  comes  the  memory  of  her 
faithless  spouse,  Pollio.  Strange,  indeed,  that  her  inno- 
cent children  are  to  be  made  the  victims  of  her  wounded 
pride;  that  with  eyes  aflame  with  the  spirit  of  murder, 
her  breast  heaving  with  the  cruel  purpose,  her  arm 
nerved  with  the  treacherous  dagger,  and  her  feet 
lighted  through  the  darkest  of  crime,  she  goes  thus  to 
relieve  her  stricken  heart.  And  listen  to  her  words  a 
moment  after  when  she  gains  their  couch  : “ How, 
while  they  slumber  ; so  the  hand  that  strikes  them  they 
will  not  see.  Courage!  now!  Ah!  my  iimbs'r'refuse 
their  office — my  brain  is  dizzy — and  horror  shakes  my 
very  soul.  Murder  my  children — slay  my  own  sweet 
darlings — they  who  have  been  all  my  delight,  all  my 
consolation  amidst  the  deep  remorse  and  anguish  that 
assail  me  ; and  shall  I shed  their  blood  ? How  are  they 
guilty  ? They  are  his  children  ! That  condemns  them  ! 

* Yes!  I will  tear  their  image  from  out  my  bosom,  and 
be  the|r*griet  never  to  equal  his  ! How  then  ! [About 
to  strike.]  Ah  ! no — they  are  my  children  ! Ho ! 
there,  Clotilda  !”  And  a mother’s  love  spares  them,  after 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


65 


which  her  own  impending  doom  is  hastened — the 
burning  pyre  with  Bollio  to  share  her  painful  death. 
No.  50.  The  Village  Doctor , by  Venneman,  1850. 
A choice  little  piece  admirably  well  executed.  The 
nervous  patient  who  is  being  manipulated  for  some  ill 
of  the  flesh,  near  the  region  of  the  eye,  is  an  object 
rather  of  merriment  than  condolence  in  the  regard  of 
the  jolly  lookers  on.  It  very  forcibly  illustrates  the 
truth  of  the  saying,  “We  are  not  physically  hurt 
ourselves,  when  laughing  at  the  expense  of  others.,, 
No.  51.  Virgin  and  Child , by  Murillo.  The  tone  of  this 
picture  is  decidedly  mellow,  whether  from  age  or  after 
the  subdued  style  of  the  artist,  it  matters  not,  but 
there  is  a character  and  a dignity  given  to  the  subject, 
which  impresses  and  grows  upon  the  spectator  more 
than  would  be  produced  by  the  brilliant  tints  so  gen- 
erally employed.  The  face  of  the  Madonna,  with 
dark  eyes  and  hair,  is  of  a melancholy  type,  but  its 
sweetness  cannot  be  denied.  Floating  as  it  were  in 
circuambient  air  are  the  angels,  and  although  more 
than  half  enveloped  in  cloud,  they  impart  that  cherubic 
influence  which  the  old  masters  rarely  lose  sight  of  in 
works  of  this  description.  No.  52.  The  Portrait  of 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  1815.  This  is  very  valuable, 
having  been  painted  from  life.  IIow  much  interest 
clings  to  the  name  of  the  great  hero  who  held  nations 
in  his  grasp,  and  upon  whose  banner  victory  was  writ 
in  never  fading  characters  1 No.  58.  Sunset , by  Emile 
Breton,  1869.  Selected  by  Mr.  W.  T.  Walters.  We 
behold  a landscape  whereupon  no  adverse  criticism 
could  rest.  Here  is  nature  in  her  dark  green  livery, 
deepened  almost  into  gloom  by  the  strong  contract  of 
the  lurid  sky,  and  the  brilliant  orb  of  day  sinking 
away  in  crimson  splendor.  Involuntarily  to  our  minds 
come  these  beautiful  lines — 

5 


66 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


“ Something  gave  the  dying  sunset 
An  intenser  glow, 

And  enriched  the  cup  of  rapture 
Filled  to  overflow  ! ” 

Or  again  another  stanza — 

u Our  west  horizon  circular, 

From  time  the  sun  be  set, 

Is  all  with  rubies,  as  it  were, 

Or  roses  red  o’erfret.” 

No.  54.  Dutch  School , by  De  Block.  Oh  ! ye  who 
have  taught  the  “young  idea  how  to  shoot/’  pray 
sympathize  with  the  taskmaker  who  sits  forward  in 
his  high  arm  chair,  holding  a book  whose  teachings  are 
being  slowly  hammered  into  a half  dozen  or  more 
rock-like  craniums.  The  master  is  a man  of  years, 
and  one  might  study  arithmetic,  or  at  least  a sum  of 
addition  from  the  accumulated  wrinkles  in  his  face. 
One  little  culprit  has  been  called  to  take  his  place,  but 
his  recitation  is  doubtless  as  weak  as  his  knees,  or  he 
may  be  in  the  act  of  contrition  “ bowed  down  with 
weight  of  woe.”  Another  has  just  passed  ingloriously 
from  the  same  ordeal,  for  his  book  is  opened  to  learn 
his  lesson  over  again.  Two  boys  lean  up  against  the 
desk,  one  of  wThom  is  grinning  because  he ''is  in  the 
rear,  and  his  time  has  not  yet  come.  Several  more  are 
on  their  knees  clustered  around  the  teacher’s  chair, 
which  we  suppose  is  a u stool  of  repentance  ” for  their 
ignorance.  But  in  the  distance,  and  not  overlooked 
by  any  means,  is  a poor  little  fellow,  his  bag  of  books, 
strapped  to  his  side.  His  slow  dragging  footsteps  give 
evidence  of  the  hard  road  he  has  to  travel,  whilst  he 
wipes  his  eyes,  and  is  just  about  to  boo  Aoo,  washing  he 
had  never  been  born.  From  all  appearances  these  boys 
will  never  make  sages,  or  they  show  us  that  applica- 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


67 


tion  to  study  is  like  a sharp  stinging  briar  in  the  path- 
way of  youth.  Nos.  55  and  56.  Cabinet  Interiors , by 
Demarne.  These  are  diminutive  pictures,  but  are 
very  highly  valued.  Their  finish  is  simply  exquisite. 
In  one  there  are  ten  figures,  several  of  whom  are  en- 
joying some  social  sport — “ making  merry  ” after  the 
French  style.  In  the  other  they  have  settled  down  to 
a parlance,  in  which  even  the  dogs  seem  to  take  part. 
No.  57.  Count  Eberhard  of  Wirtemburg , weeping  over 
the  Bead  Body  of  his  Son , by  Ary  Scheffer.  Selected  by 
Mr.  W.  T.  Walters.  This  is  really  a chef  d ’oeuvre,  em- 
bodying all  the  expressive  mournfulness  of  its  title — 
an  emotional  scene,  appealing  most  strongly  to  the 
heart,  for  whilst  it  has  the  cold  and  rigid  gloom  of 
death,  it  as  well  portrays  the  extreme  anguish  of  the 
living.  We  behold  the  strong  man  bent  with  sorrow 
— not  that  stony  obdurate  grief,  but  the  tender  love  of 
the  parent  heart  welling  out  in  tears  that  gush  like 
fountains,  and  cannot,  will  not  be  held  back.  Mark 
the  strange  contrast  between  this  spontaneous  betrayal 
of  emotion  (not  less  restrained  than  if  a weak,  feeble 
woman)  and  the  powerful  martial  bearing  of  the  man, 
clad  in  armor,  who  under  other  circumstances  would 
be  as  stern  and  unyielding  as  the  iron  of  the  cannon! 
See  also,  the  humility  with  which  the  hands  are  folded 
(across  the  heaving  breast)  that  had  boldly  wielded  the 
sword  and  braved  the  issues  of  war  ! The  pitiless  shot 
had  mowed  down  many,  the  banners  were  streaked 
with  the  blood  of  the  slain,  but  now  a death  wound  has 
cut  deep  into  the  neck  of  his  beloved  son — a youth 
delicate  and  fair,  and  a “.shining  mark.”  Thus  death 
befallen  this  dear  treasure  has  dashed  pride,  glory  and 
victory  aside.  The  grievous  thought  of  the  great 
crimson  tide  flowing  from  the  breasts  of  unnumbered 
slain  is  forgotten  in  the  few  trickling  drops  from  the 


68 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


wounded  child,  showing  how  strong  can  be  the  ties  of 
love,  and  how  cruel  the  decrees  of  fate.  Sad,  indeed, 
that  remorse  adds  a sting  to  the  sorrow  of  the  Count ! 
It  is  told  that  his  son  Ulrich  had  previously  lost  a 
battle  and  been  wounded,  and  when  he  met  his  dis- 
tinguished sire  at  the  dinner  table,  the  wrath  of  the 
parent  was  so  great  on  hearing  of  the  disaster 
that  befell  their  arms,  that  he  seized  upon  a knife  and 
cut  the  table  cloth  between  them.  This  act  so  ignoble 
and  harsh  to  a brave  young  spirit  was  so  keenly  felt, 
that  the  youth,  anxious  to  retrieve  his  wounded  pride 
and  honor,  rushed  into  the  next  battle,  gaining  victory, 
but  losing  his  own  life.  The  coloring  of  this  picture  is 
truly  wonderful  in  its  ardent  depth,  richness  and  sub- 
stantiality. Scheffer  has  won  imperishable  renown ; 
nearly  all  of  his  great  works  partaking  of  sadness  and 
sorrow.  Ho.  58.  Emigration,  by  A.  Fisher.  Here  is 
the  solemn  spectacle  of  an  Indian  band  driven  forth 
from  their  hunting  grounds  in  obedience  to  the  de- 
mands of  civilization — a true  portraiture  of  the  words, 
“ The  old  order  changeth,  yielding  place  to  new.”  The 
day  is  darkening  o’er  the  beautiful  valley  where  they 
have  stopped  in  their  march  to  look  hack  on  what  is 
lost  to  them,  and  as  they  catch  a gleam  of  the  distant 
camp  tires,  where  the  white  men  gather,  content  in 
their  new  possessions,  we  can  almost  hear  (in  imagina- 
tion) the  sad  echoes  of  their  farewell  answering  from 
the  hills,  or  read  upon  their  troubled  faces  the  un- 
happy destiny — “ Wanderers  forever  ! where  shall  our 
wigwams  remain  unmolested  ? ” The  landscape  adds 
to  the  sadness  by  being  tinged  with  autumnal  hues. 
Ho.  59.  Twilight , by  Jap}7,  1873.  Selected  by  Mr.  W. 
T.  Walters.  A river  is  visible  in  the  distance,  over 
which  the  pale  crescent  risen  high  sheds  her  faint  light. 
The  firmament  wears  mingled  tints  of  purple  and  blue, 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


69 


and  the  western  sky  dips  its  rosy  trail  towards  the 
earth,  lighting  up  a little  inland  pool  of  water,  from 
which  a white  horse  has  turned  away.  The  foremost 
engrossing  feature  of  the  landscape  is  a group  of  trees, 
growing  in  such* shape  as  to  form  a pleasant  bower  of 
green,  and  not  far  off  is  a feeble  curl  of  smoke  from 
some  burning  brushwood,  wherefrom  several  figures 
are  seen  retreating.  If  in  the  picture  of  Spring  by  the 
same  artist  there  is  all  the  emphatic  impulse  and 
energy  of  a bright  sunshiny  day,  this  Twilight  scene 
possesses  not  less  the  opposite  in  the  stillness  and  som- 
breness that  accompanies  the  decline  of  day;  for  is  it 
not  the  hour  when  nature  grows  dreamy  and  hushed, 
when  the  birds  seek  their  nests,  and  the  only  sound  is 
that  of  the  insect’s  hum,  and  the  croak  of  the  frogs? 
It  is  the  hour  besides  that  renders  home  sweet  and 
welcome  to  the  tired  laborer,  for  then  God  throws  the 
veil  of  darkness  over  the  beauty  of  the  world,  that 
man  may  slumber  and  view  in  visions  the  greater  light 
of  His  mercy  and  love.  Ho.  60.  A Landscape , by 
George  Inness.  This  gives  a view  of  some  hills  and 
verdure,  a brook  and  a roadway — the  man  on  horse- 
back (followed  by  a boy),  riding  along  leisurely.  Ho. 
61.  A small  Flemish  Picture , by  Laboria,  1619.  Interest- 
ing on  account  of  its  ancient  appearance,  and  the  un- 
common subject,  viz. : a young  warrior  wearing  all  the 
martial  accoutrements,  and  urged  by  Time  to  leave  his 
lady-love  and  hasten  on  to  war.  Old  father  Time  dis- 
plays a large  extent  of  wing  as  well  as  a huge  scythe; 
and  his  hour  glass  with  its  falling  sands  gives  mournful 
sign  of  the  flight  of  precious  moments.  Ho.  62.  The 
Pets , by  E.  Johnson,  1856.  Surely  will  this  picture  elicit 
praise,  not  only  from  juveniles,  but  adults  who  have  not 
quite  forgotten  the  days  when  some  household  treasure 
in  the  form  of  a dog  or  kitten,  lay  claim  to  affectionate 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


10 

regard.  A young  maiden  sits  in  quiet  contemplation 
other  several  pets — a parrot,  cat,  gold  fish,  and  Guinea 
keats.  Her  hands  are  folded,  and  she  occupies  an  arm 
chair,  that  looks  as  though  it  had  been  made  for  some 
gouty  old  gentleman.  All  of  Barnum’s  museum  has 
not  as  much  value  in  the  eyes  of  this  little  girl  as  her 
miniature  possessions.  No.  63.  Dog  and  Parrots , by 
F.  Lachenwitez,  1847.  The  birds  have  left  the  im- 
prisonment of  wires,  and  seem  to  be  in  a sort  of  chatty 
ire  with  the  dog,  who  has  laid  down  facing  the  open 
door  of  the  cage,  looking  very  much  like  an  august 
owner  or  dictator.  Their  talking  and  barking  there- 
fore leave  us  no  voice  to  settle  the  dispute,  and  we  pass 
on  to  is'o.  64.  Return  from  Market , by  W.  Brown. 
This  English  artist  has  represented  a country  inn  with 
an  old  fashioned  door,  over  whose  slanting  canopy  is 
hung  as  an  advertising  sign,  a picture  of  the  mighty 
bard,  entitled  “The  Shakspeare  Inn.”  There  are  three 
arrivals  on  horseback,  one  of  the  men  (doubtless  the 
proprietor)  bringing  with  him  a heaping  basket  of  sup- 
plies which  he  hands  over  to  a woman  of  the  house. 
The  love  of  newspaper  intelligence  is  shown  by  the 
eager  individual  who  has  siezed  upon  a “daily,”  and  is 
devouring  the  contents.  Let  us  note  his  dress  and 
attitude!— a low  dumped  hat,  light  coat,  shrunken 
bottle-green  breeches,  and  feet  turned  out  at  an  alarm- 
ing degree ; (in  short,  his  legs  describe  a parenthesis,) 
and  his  face  puckered  as  if  under  the  influence  of  per- 
simmons. We  wonder  if  he  ever  had  a sweetheart,  or 
if  he  will  not  be  brought  up  in  a divorce  suit  should 
he  marry  ? There  are  two  dogs,  one  a specimen  of 
fierce  energy,  and  the  other  looking  lazy  enough  to 
have  been  asleep  a hundred  years.  The  horses  are 
spirited  enough  to  have  us  stroke  their  manes  and  say 
a kind  word  to  them.  No.  65.  Great  Falls  of  the 


IV.  W.  CORCORAN. 


U 


Potomac,  from  the  Virginia  Side,  by  ¥m.  MacLeod, 
1873.  This  sketch  possesses  a local  interest,  inde- 
pendent of  the  praise  which  must  accrue  to  the  artist 
for  his  fidelity  and  skill.  It  is  welcome  to  the  many 
persons  familiar  with  that  wild,  romantic  scenery,  and 
to  us  particularly,  who  have  viewed  it  on  a bright 
summer’s  day,  when  the  sparkling  water  dashed  over 
the  rocks,  forming  numerous  eddies  and  a trailing  line 
of  foam.  At  a time  too,  when  nature  all  around  wore 
the  beautiful  imprint  of  June,  and  merry  voices  kept 
up  the  pic-nic  glee,  it  proves  a most  grateful  remem- 
brance of  happy  hours.  It  is  not  an  exaggeration  to 
state  that  Mr.  MacLeod  approximates  the  style  of 
Church  in  the  truly  natural  tint  of  the  water,  the  easy 
flow,  &c.  Ho.  66.  Moonlight  in  Italy , by  Tuvernier, 
1849.  There  is  a pleasant  shadow  of  green  thrown 
over  the  scene,  dipped  with  the  mild  radiance  of  the 
moon,  and  somehow  in  the  mysterious  light  so  peculiar 
to  the  clime,  we  are  taught  to  think  of  peace,  love, 
and  other  kindly  emotions.  There  is  poetry  also  in 
the  conception.  Under  the  umbrageous  trees  is  a 
fountain,  whose  waters  glimmer  with  the  silver  sheen, 
and  offer  besides  grateful  refreshment.  A peasant 
woman  approaches  with  a jug  on  her  head,  and 
several  persons  have  dismounted  from  their  horses. 
Ho.  67.  Gen.  Andrew  Jackson,  by  Sully.  An  admir- 
able work  of  art,  and  a faithful  likeness.  It  is  both 
graceful  and  noble  of  the  great  hero  of  Hew  Orleans. 
He  stands  within  sight  of  the  lurid  fire  and  smoke  of 
battle,  and  the  troops  marching  on,  yet  near  his  tent 
and  a mounted  cannon.  He  wears  his  long  military 
cloak,  and  is  in  the  act  of  writing  down  some  important 
order,  using  in  his  haste  his  chapeau  as  a support  for 
the  paper.  One  gauntlet  has  dropped  at  his  feet.  His 
countenance  stamped  with  a thoughtful  expression  and 


72 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


inspired  with  hope,  is  a tell-tale  of  the  glory  and  fate 
of  our  nation.  No.  68.  Portrait  of  Easteyrie.  A 
pleasant,  intelligent  old  face,  and  the  original  like- 
ness of  this  distinguished  French  economist  and 
author ; the  first  who  formed  a general  museum  of 
specimens  of  natural  history  and  art  to  contain  every 
article  useful  to  man,  either  in  its  natural  state,  or 
its  artificial  preparation.  Author  of  works  on  the 
merino  sheep,  cotton,  &e.  Painted  in  wax,  at  Paris, 
by  Rembrandt  Peale,  for  the  Philadelphia  Museum. 
No.  69.  Portrait  of  Thomas  Sully — painted  by  himself. 
Success! ul  with  others,  he  has  also  proved  a good 
artist  for  his  own  physiognomy.  No.  70.  Iris  (copy). 
Charming  Goddess  of  the  Rainbow ! What  is  so 
beautiful  or  poetical  as  the  arch  of  colors  that  some- 
times suddenly  fixes  our  gaze  upon  the  heavens,  and 
upon  which  we  look  almost  amid  tears,  the  rain  drops 
lessening  after  the  profuse  shower?  And  what  more 
appropriate  to  grace  the  name  and  thought  of  a rain- 
bow than  a lovely  female  form,  with  a spiritual  glance 
in  the  eye,  and  an  air  of  beauty  in  the  figure  floating 
upwards  to  the  sky.  Iris  is  represented  as  rising 
from  the  landscape  below,  where  is  the  outline  of  a 
cave  with  a tiny  streamlet.  The  faint  curve  of  the 
rainbow  is  encircling  her  limbs,  and  tending  hi  the 
direction  of  her  flight.  The  tinge  of  light  in  the  colors 
is  in  accord  with  her  floating  tresses  of  gold,  and  the 
etherial  like  drapery  sporting  with  the  breeze.  The 
beautiful  arms  of  the  figure  are  raised  far  above  the 
head,  as  if  in  the  high  attainment  of  bearing  aloft  the 
golden  flagon,  and  the  pressure  of  one  hand  keeps  afloat 
a cloud-like  veil  sweeping  gently  backwards,  scorning 
to  hide  a face  so  fair.  That  face  is  turned  toward  the 
sun,  its  golden  rays  beaming  in  glad  welcome  to  her 
approach.  No.  71.  The  Drought  in  Egypt,  by  F.  Por- 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


73 


taels,  1873.  Selected  by  Mr.  W.  T.  Walters.  (“How  he 
had  wrought  His  signs  in  Egypt,  and  His  wonders  in 
the  field  of  Zoan  : And  had  turned  their  rivers  into 
blood ; and  their  floods,  that  they  could  not  drink.” — 
Psalm  lxxviii,  v.  43,  44.)  This  sad  group  of  sixteen 
figures  makes  us  at  a single  glance  appreciate  the 
nature  of  the  woe  that  Egypt  felt  when  her  children  were 
perishing  from  the  drought.  The  dreary  surroundings 
where  no  srreen  thing  is  seen  save  two  stunted  withering 
palms  in  the  distance,  and  the  one  conspicuous  feature — 
the  empty  well,  are  noticed  jointly  with  the  poor  sufferers 
gathered  around  the  dried-up  fount — nature  sympa- 
thizing with  humanity.  The  massive  stone  cover  to 
the  well  has  been  thrust  aside,  and  eager  eyes  have 
looked  strained^  into  its  depths  for  one  crystal  drop 
of  consolation.  The  tall  figure  of  the  priest  with 
patriarchal  beard,  and  all  the  dignity  of  his  holy  calling, 
looms  up  centrally,  and  resting  his  head  upon  one  hand, 
looks  down  on  the  sorrow  of  the  people,  impotent  to 
relieve,  and  silent  through  despair.  At  his  feet  one 
poor  mother  sits,  and  having  just  seen  her  child  die, 
raises  her  eyes  imploringly  to  heaven.  The  struggle 
past  and  suffering  ended  for  the  little  one,  it  lies  ex- 
tended across  her  knees,  with  one  hand  still  clutching 
at  her  bosom,  and  the  other  receiving  the  tender  clasp 
of  the  agonized  parent.  The  eyes  of  the  child  show' 
the  heaviness  of  intense  suffering,  and  the  blueness  of 
death  settling  around  the  mouth,  tells  most  painfully 
howr  those  baby  lips  must  have  famished  for  a single 
drop,  which  neither  nature  nor  maternal  love  could 
yield.  Another  mother,  clad  in  wThite  garments,  cling- 
ing closely  to  her  form,  has  passed  through  the  same 
sorrow,  and  with  the  last  strength  of  anguish  has 
gained  a standing  position,  holding  above  her  head  the 
little  dead  babe.  In  her  face  we  read  her  surrender  to 


u 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


the  God  who  hath  the  right  to  claim,  and  yet  we  seem 
to  hear  the  wail  of  the  blackest  sorrow  that  has  ever 
fallen  upon  her  soul.  By  her  side  are  three  figures 
resting  against  some  stone  masonry.  One  head  is 
nearly  lost  to  view,  being  bent  in  tribulation.  The 
next,  a beautiful  young  girl,  with  perhaps  more  trust 
and  hope  in  her  countenance,  holds  a water  vessel, 
set  upright  in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  and  the  other,  a 
youth  in  shadow,  drops  his  head  in  a somnolent  atti- 
tude. Filling  up  the  circular  space  nearest  the  well 
are  two  women,  both  clasping  their  flagons.  One 
seems  shut  off  and  alone  in  her  gloom,  so  absorbed  is 
her  look,  and  so  deep  are  her  thoughts.  The  con- 
traction of  the  brow  describes  the  pang  at  her  heart. 
The  oth'er,  with  sweet,  mild  submission,  bends  her  head 
on  her  hand,  a large,  pearly  tear-drop  escaping  from 
her  eye.  Then  come  the  two  foremost  figures  on  a 
line  with  the  well.  A graceful  female  is  one,  envel- 
oped in  beautiful  drapery,  leaving  bare  her  arms  and 
feet.  She  sits  on  the  ground,  gazing  steadily  at  the 
stones  of  the  well.  The  other  woman  in  the  death- 
throes  has  sunk  down  exhausted,  her  weight  being 
partially  supported  by  a slave,  who  has  removed  from 
the  dying  figure  some  valuable  ornaments,  and  is  hold- 
ing them  up  as  an  offering  to  heaven,  or  an  oblation 
to  bring  unto  them — Water!  Water!  Still  another 
dark  figure  crouches  down  in  prayer,  and  far  off 
in  the  elevated  background  are  two  more  sorrowful 
ones  at  an  empty  well,  bearing  jugs  wherewith  to 
be  disappointed.  This  painting  received  the  special 
gold  medal  at  the  Crystal  Palace  Exhibition,  England. 
No.  72.  Portrait  of  Baron  Von  Humboldt , from  the  life, 
by  Madame  Richards.  The  dark  crimson  background 
brings  out  most  clearly  a face,  which  though  marked 
with  the  lines  of  age,  has  preserved  its  purity  and  soft- 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


*75 


ness  of  complexion,  and  the  mild  blue  eye  is  directed  at 
the  spectator  with  all  the  earnestness  with  which  he 
undertook  the  mighty  labors  of  his  life.  It  is  a remark- 
able countenance,  yet  gentle  as  a woman’s,  the  broad 
high  forehead  whereupon  the  light  falls  gloriously,  and 
the  full  snowy  locks  enhancing  the  glow  upon  the 
cheeks,  whilst  the  pleasant  mobile  expression  of  the 
mouth  suggests  speech  not  less  eloquent  than  the  lan- 
guage of  his  eyes.  The  high  old  fashioned  stock,  with 
the  slightest  approach  to  a standing  collar,  supports 
in  quiet  majesty  the  head,  and  just  below  the  throat 
is  suspended  some  important  emblem  of  rank.  On  his 
left  side,  a medallion,  star-shaped,  gleams  out  from  his 
simple  black'  attire.  Humboldt  must  have  found  a 
■warm  admirer  in  Madame  Richards,  from  the  evident 
care  with  which  the  portrait  is  executed;  and  as  the 
work  of  a woman’s  hand,  it  deserves  the  highest  com- 
mendation. Ho.  73.  Portrait  of  Bernard  St.  Pierre 
(author  of  Paul  and  Virginia),  by  R.  Peale,  1818. 
Donation  from  Gebrge  W.  Riggs,  Esq.  Who  that  has 
read  the  interesting  history  above  mentioned,  will 
not  dwell  upon  the  benignant  and  intelligent  features 
of  this  distinguished  writer  with  true  admiration  and 
friendliness?  Ho.  74.  A Portrait  of  PLtnry  Clay , by  PI. 
Inman.  A good  likeness  of  our  great  and  favorite 
statesman,  upon  whom  we  must  ever  look  with  pride. 
Ho..  75.  Portrait  of  a Lady  (unknown),  by  Sir  Peter 
Lely.  Goodness  more  than  beauty  in  this  instance 
might  attract.  Ho.  76.  Portrait  of  President  George 
Washington , by  Miss  Stuart,  daughter  of  Gilbert 
Stuart,  of  Rhode  Island.  This  is  a copy  of  her 
father’s  celebrated  picture  of  Washington.  He  is 
represented  with  all  the  benignity  of  moral  worth, 
and  all  the  attributes  of  high  station.  The  sword  in 
his  left  hand,  speaks  like  an  oracle  of  how  bravely 


76 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


he  battled  for  our  independence.  Two  large  volumes 
resting  against  the  table  are  entitled  “Statutes  of 
Va.,”  and  “Constitution  of  the  U.  S.”  No.  77.  The 
Huguenot's  Daughter , by  W.  D.  Washington,  1854. 
We  view  the  interior  of  a Catholic  chapel,  at  the 
altar  of  which  two  religious  faiths  are  to  be  cemented 
in  the  love  that  springs  from  true  and  faithful  hearts. 
The  maiden  is  fair  and  lovely,  and  the  cavalier  at  her 
side  brave  and  manly.  The  priests,  delegated  to  their 
sacred  office,  are  about  to  seal  the  happy  union,  when 
suddenly  the  solemnity  of  the  scene  is  invaded  by  the 
entrance  of  the  bride’s  menacing  parent  and  his  fol- 
lowers. There  is  wild  fury  in  their  glances,  disap- 
pointment and  despair  on  the  faces  of  the  betrothed, 
and  terror  and  agitation  on  the  countenances  of  the 
priests.  The  censer  has  been  overthrown  in  the  con- 
fusion. “ The  tapers  that  light  and  odor  gave,  are 
changed  to  burning  sighs,”  and  heaven’s  blessing  that 
was  nigh,  is  lost  in  a father’s  curse.  No.  78.  On 
Catskill  Creek , by  W.  B.  Boggs.  A work  of  tine 
finish,  and  particularly  in  the  foliage  that  lines  the 
banks  of  the  swift  current.  No.  79.  On  the  Coast  of 
Calabria  (artist  unknown).  A small  chapel  on  a slight 
eminence  overlooks  the  water,  which  is  as  blue  as  the 
azure  of  the  sky.  The  cliffs  along  the  border  are  bathed 
in  the  same  hue,  yet  a single  peep  from  the  early  moon 
has  invaded  this  exquisite  color,  and  cast  a delicate  trail 
of  light  on  the  mirrory  surface  of  the  sea.  A stone 
bridge  leads  to  the  chapel,  in  front  of  which,  at  a little 
distance  off*,  is  a tall  cross,  where  the  pilgrim  might  bend 
his  knee  and  say  an  “ Ave  Maria,”  ere  entering  the  holy 
precincts.  The  lamps  are  lighted  at  the  entrance  of  the 
shrine,  and  two  of  the  monks  or  priests  stand  outside. 
Peasant  women  are  lolling  on  the  bridge,  and  some  of 
the  men  are  still  busy  with  their  fishing  poles.  Curv- 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


11 


ing  ledges  of  rock  that  assimilate  the  opening  to  a 
grotto,  form  a sort  of  bower  to  the  pretty  view,  and  the 
stout  sides  are  overrun  with  a delicate  vine,  making  up 
something  of  the  poetry  and  beauty  of  foreign  scenery. 
No.  79.  Moonrise  in  Madeira , by  Hildebrandt.  This 
title  can  convey  to  the  reader  no  other  idea  than  the 
usual  light  that  streams  from  the  gentle  orb  of  night, 
but  the  rare  tone  of  coloring  in  this  picture  might  have 
been  dipped  from  the  tropics  in  its  fiery  splendor  and 
glowing  beauty.  Some  few  strips  of  the  island  are  jut- 
ting out  into  the  water,  whose  every  ripple  is  . lighted 
up  with  burnished  gold,  whilst  the  horizon  has  a warmth 
so  intense  as  to  make  the  wings  of  the  sea-gulls  appear 
blood-stained.  On  the  shore  a group  of  natives  are  sit- 
ting by  some  lighted  brushwood,  and  the  effect  produced 
by  these  few  firebrands  is  quite  brilliant.  Several  boats 
lay  at  anchor.  The  artist  enjoyed  the  intimate  regard 
of  Baron  Humboldt,  through  whose  instrumentality  the 
picture  was  painted  for  Mr.  Corcoran.  No.  81.  A 
Female  Figure  from  the  Bath  (oval)  unknown.  No.  82. 
Child  and  Nurse , by  Begas  (copy).  Here  is  beautiful 
youth  in  a natural  state,  as  the  fair  complexioned, 
golden  haired  child  has  just  undergone  an  ablution,  and 
is  pleased  to  return  the  compliment  of  the  nurse’s  ser- 
vices by  sponging  the  face  of  “ dear  old  black  mammy,” 
who,  alas ! cannot  be  made  white  as  snow.  In  a vine- 
clad  recess  near  the  boudoir  are  some  baskets  of  flowers, 
and  a little  fountain  splashing  water,  as  though  in  com- 
pany with  baby’s  fingers  in  the  miniature  bath.  No. 
83.  Duck  Shooting , by  W.  Ranney,  1850.  Several 
sportsmen  are  surveying  the  successful  result  of  their 
expedition.  A sagacious  dog  is  holding  a fine  duck  by 
the  wing,  and  looks  as  if  he  were  wishing  them  to  ad- 
mit that  some  praise  is  due  to  his  exertions.  The  sky 
wears  the  autumnal  dark,  the  gray  and  purple  shades. 


78 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


No.  84.  Ball  Flaying  among  the  Sioux  Indians,  by  Cap- 
tain Seth  Eastman,  U.  S.  A.  In  this  game  may  not  the 
red  man  be  more  happy  than  when  he  flourishes  his 
tomahawk  in  quest  of  scalps  ? If  such  amusements 
could  the  more  frequently  fill  up  the  hours  of  these 
brothers  of  the  forest,  many  a misguided  thought  of 
passion  and  evil  deed  might  be  checked.  No.  85.  Farm 
.House,  by  George  Morland.  This  rustic  scene  must 
be  studied  in  all  of  its  excellent  points,  as  the  work  of 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  painters  of  the  English 
school..  How  happy  looks  the  old  countryman  who 
returns  home  well  provisioned,  but  the  brightest  re- 
ward for  him  is  the  welcoming  smile  upon  the  faces  of 
his  family.  Who  can  dispute  that  a cottage  some- 
times ranks  above  a palace  in  the  content  that  reigns 
undisturbed  ? No.  86.  Leisure  and  Labor , by  F.  B. 
Mayer,  1853.  Here  we  see  the  interior  of  a black- 
smith shop.  The  owner  is  busy  at  his  work  shoeing 
a fine  looking  horse,  and  leisurely  leaning  against  the 
doorway  is  a tall  sapling-like  fellowq  wearing  a broad 
brimmed  hat,  various  colored  clothing,  and  charac- 
teristically thrusting  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  His 
graceful  greyhound  at  his  side  is  very  erect,  and  looks 
with  as  much  wonder  as  his  master  at  mechanical 
industry.  On  the  outside  of  the  shop  is  a comical  sign 
with  a cadaverous  figure  of  old  Time,  making  long 
strides  with  his  skeleton  limbs,  and  these  explanatory 
words  as  a libel  on  orthography — stop  thiefh.  No. 
87.  Out-door  Concert,  by  E.  T.  Eckhout.  A lady  in 
rich  costume  is  sitting  with  her  feet  on  a cushion,  and 
her  poodle  near  by,  whilst  a courtly  group  of  admirers 
are  rendering  homage  through  the  sweet  influence  of 
music.  No.  88.  Mercy's  Dream , by  D.  Huntington, 
1850.  Illustrative  of  a scene  in  Bunyan’s  Pilgrim 
Progress.  The  landscape  lies  chiefly  in  shadow,  except 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


79 


where  the  distant  hills  are  tipped  with  the  sunset’s 
ruby  and  gold.  By  the  margin  of  a stream  reposes 
in  a half  recumbent  posture,  a female  figure,  represent- 
ing Mercy.  She  has  closed  her  eyes,  and  aA  almost 
saintly  peace  enwraps  her  features.  Her  attitude  so 
gently  drawn  is  in  unison  with  her  mild,  benevolent 
spirit,  that  is  harmonizing  all  things,  making  earth 
seem  a part  of  heaven.  One  hand  is  laid  upon  her 
breast,  the  other  composedly  rests  upon  the  turf,  as  if 
in  support  of  the  upper  erect  portion  of  the  body.  The 
golden  hair  is  half  concealed  by  a sweeping  veil  of 
blue,  and  her  garments  are  of  white,  gold  and  rose 
color.  An  angel  has  descended  holding  a crown,  sur- 
mounted with  tiny  crosses,  one  of  which  is  lit  up  wdth 
the  divine  glory  of  the  sky.  The  seraph  points  to  the 
heavenly  realm,  whose  immaculate  light  is  tinging 
drapery  and  wings.  With  face  bent  towards  Mercy, 
he  is  about  to  bestow  the  glittering  reward.  This 
figure  is  perfect,  and  full  of  the  sublimity  which  the 
subject  demands.  Ho.  89.  The  Letter , by  H.  Helmick, 
1868.  A beautiful  picture,  showing  the  interior  of  an 
humble  French  home.  The  old  people  are  listening  to 
the  perusal  of  a letter  from  America,  addressed  to  their 
daughter.  The  contents  we  may  not  know,  but  there 
is  something  wonderfully  interesting,  the  father  having 
stopped  his  smoking,  and  the  mother  her  domestic 
work.  Ho.  90.  The  Blonde , Brunette  and  Medium , 
by  T.  P.  Rossiter.  The  types  are  faithfully  executed, 
and  we  will  not  say  to  whom  shall  go  our  chief  praise. 
Ho.  91.  Autumn  on  the  Hudson , by  Thomas  Doughty. 
“ Charming ! ” will  be  the  exclamation  when  this  pic- 
ture is  viewed  in  its  faultless  beauty.  It  makes  us  feel 
more  than  ever  that  the  noble  Hudson  has  a high 
claim  upon  our  admiration — the  rich  autumnal  tints 
coloring  the  trees  in  contrast  with  those  yet  un- 


80 


A TRIBUTE  TO 


touched,  and  the  sunshine  falling  here  and  there  with 
brightest  glow.  Such  a scene  seems  to  have  been  laid 
out  for  an  enthusiastic  and  finished  artist,  and  it  need 
ask  no  higher  renown  than  to  have  won  the  admiring 
eye  of  Doughty.  No.  92.  Beggar  Girl , by  Begasse. 
How  plaintive  the  air  of  this  child  ! Although  not 
having  yet  felt  the  pinching  want  that  so  often  re- 
duces the  frame  and  thins  the  visage  of  many  of  her 
class,  still,  in  her  eyes  one  can  read  the  sad  knowledge 
that  with  all  the  plenty  of  this  world,  there  are  some 
who  can  only  feed  upon  the  husks.  She  wears  a tidy 
garb,  her  pretty  face  and  glossy  dark  hair  being  set 
off  by  a white  handkerchief  tied  under  the  chin.  Her 
right  hand  is  extended  for  charity,  which  may  not  be 
slow  or  stinted  when  beauty  is  the  petitioner.  No.  93. 
Allegro  and  Penseroso , by  J.  G.  Brown.  These  are 
small  figures  but  will  certainly  challenge  the  closest 
examination  in  their  remarkably  fine  drawing.  Each 
face  represents  admirably  the  emotion  for  which  it  is 
named. 

On  the  19th  of  January,  the  gallery  was  opened  for 
the  first  time,  invitations  having  been  extended  to  the 
President,  Governor  of  the  District,  Cabinet  Officers, 
the  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives,  the  J udiciary 
and  Diplomatic  Corps.  The  President  arrived^at  10 
a.  m.,  accompanied  by  Ex-Secretary  Borie.  There  was 
a constant  stream  of  visitors  during  the  day  and  even- 
ing, the  ladies  in  rich  toilettes  enhancing  the  brilliancy 
of  the  scene.  Mr.  Corcoran  occupied  a seat,  and  bore 
remarkably  well  the  fatigue  of  receiving  unnumbered 
congratulations.  The  wish  was  universal,  that  he 
might  long  live  to  enjoy  the  beautiful  shrine  of  Art. 
Many  of  the  visitors  were  interested  in  a valuable  old 
English  Bible  of  six  immense  volumes,  printed  and 
illustrated  in  1800,  and  dedicated  to  His  Royal  Majesty, 


W.  W.  CORCORAN. 


81 


George  III.,  the  Queen  and  Prince  of  Wales ; and 
also  some  interesting  Italian  works,  “ descriptive  of  the 
Vatican,”  &c.  The  library  is  daily  receiving  valuable 
additions.  In  a few  years  with  all  the  accumula- 
ting and  varied  treasure,  this,  the  substantial  foun- 
' dation,  will  have  grown  into  a monument,  not  to  be 
surpassed  by  any  in  the  country. 

And  now  we  bid  farewell  to  Mr.  Corcoran  and  the 
evidences  of  his  noble  philanthropy.  Having  pictured 
him  mostly  as  an  active  and  zealous  man,  amid  his 
charities  and  the  outside  haunts,  we  see  him  last  under 
his  own  roof,  happy  and  blessed,  daily  receiving  tokens 
of  the  gratitude  of  the  people,  thus  reaping  a reward 
that  any  might  envy.  The  brightest  picture,  more  to 
be  valued  than  all  the  wealth  of  the  gallery,  is  this 
beautiful  mansion,  the  owner  surrounded  by  three 
lovely  grandchildren  (two  boys,  and  a fair,  golden- 
haired little  girl,  named  Louise),  whose  company  and 
tender  warmth  of  affection  make  up  the  overflowing 
drop  to  the  cup  of  happiness.  Miss  Eustis,  the  sister 
of  their  deceased  father,  is  also  an  ever  watchful  and 
devoted  guardian,  her  presence  adding  to  the  delights 
of  a home  over  which  may  the  brightest  sunshine  ever 
dwell,  and  the  blessings  of  heaven  ne’er  be  denied  ! 


4 


